The judgement of Maat
by Scaretale
Summary: Altair gets in trouble as he loses his soul to the goddess Maat, who finds him to be a coldhearted person. However, Altair is given a chance to better himself, but not in his own time. He is then stuck with Ezio, who enjoys teasing him. Currently under revision!
1. Chapter 1

**''The Judgement of Maat''** Chapter 1  
>This is my first fanfic. Please tell me what you think andor review,  
>well-placed criticism is always welcome :)<p>

* * *

><p>Out of breath, the man ran close to the buildings, casting panicked glances over his shoulder from time to time and keeping the package he carried hugged close to his chest. Each time he looked back he saw no one, the streets being empty at this late hour of the night, but he could have sworn he sometimes saw the flash of a shadow or heard very faint footsteps. He had felt threatened for a while and his plump body was heavy, not used to running but rather comfortable seated behind a desk with ancient books and artefacts. He carried on, his fez tilting on the top of his head and his dark robes dancing around his ankles. His large fingers clad with rings clinged to the package as he kept running through the empty streets of Jerusalem. As he rounded the corner of an empty warehouse he understood why he could not see his pursuer. <em>The roofs<em>.

A shiver ran down his spine. Sweating, he stopped in his tracks and dared himself to look up. The last thing he saw was a figure dressed in white descending upon him. Neither did he feel the weight of the other man landing on him nor did he feel the razor-sharp blade dive into his neck. He was dead before he reached the ground, before he could even scream, before the blood even started to soil the fabric of his clothes. The plump man's hand fell open when it hit the dirt road, letting go of the package with the faint sound of metal.

The assassin stood over the man, one leg on each side of the corpse. The reddened blade at his wrist retracted itself and his silver eyes studied the victim's face. The latter was in his sixties but his hair had remained just as raven dark as his eyes staring dead and empty at the sky. His skin was far darker than the usual in Jerusalem, and the assassin had only seen this kind of clothes a few times before. He guessed the victim was from the north of Africa, probably Egypt.

He closed the victim's eyes and mouth, stepped away from the dead body and concentrated about what the Egyptian had been carrying. It had fallen out of the thick red fabric protecting it and gleamed in the light of the few lanterns left burning in the street. The assassin picked it up. A weighing scale, each plate about the size of the palm of his hand. The craftmanship was egyptian and the metal seemed to be pure, flawless silver. The fine face of a woman was carved into the metal and under it were some hieroglyphs the assassin could not read. Another glimpse of precious metal caught the white-clad man's attention. Narrowing his eyes under his hood the assassin walked to its source, still holding the scale in his left hand which lacked two thirds of the ring finger.

Having picked up the second object, he studied it. It was a feather, shining in the lights like the most precious gold and as soft as the purest silk. The scale and the feather seemed to fit together somehow, and the assassin began to wonder if they were not the real reason why he had been ordered to kill this man, as they obviously were ancient items of great value.

He had no idea why he did it, but it seemed logical to him at the time: he placed the feather on the right plate of the scale. Suddenly, the eyes of the carved face opened, white and empty and the lips parted, speaking a language the assassin did not know. Even though they were not understood the words were harsh, angry, and the assassin was not in the streets of Jerusalem anymore. He was at a place he had never seen before, which looked like an egyptian temple and was lit by enormous roaring fires lined at the walls.

He tried to move but realized that his hands and feet were chained tight to the pale coarse wall behind him. What worried him the most however, were not the chains. It was the fact that another him was standing a few feet away. His other self seemed a little transparent though, like a spirit, and he could do nothing but stare at him wide-eyed. A woman was seated in a high throne of stone to his right, tall and slender. She wore a simple white dress, and a large golden egyptian necklace as well as several thick bracelets rested on her dark skin. Her black hair was cut squarely at her shoulders, a golden headpiece shining on her forehead and holding the feather. Her face was the same as the one on the weighing scale: proud, with high cheekbones. Her eyes were intimidating, white with no irises, which made it difficult to know exactly where she was looking.

The assassin watched in silence as she stood up from her seat, head held high. A few gestures of her hand and the floorstones in the middle of the temple began to rearrange themselves into a hole, from which the weighing scale immerged. It was a lot bigger than when the assassin had handled it, but it was undoubtedly the same. Another gesture of the woman's hand invited the assassin's other self to step forward and into one of the plates, and the feather flew gracefully towards him to land into the other plate. The plates balanced at the same heigh for a moment, then, the one with the assassin's twin began to sink to the floor. The woman's eyes narrowed to thin slits.

When the plate could go no further the feather flew back to its mistress. The assassin's heart skipped a beat as the scale transformed itself into a demon, the metal arms holding the plates changing into paws of flesh and bones. A clawed fist held a firm grip around the waist of the other him, who just stood there, immobile and straight-faced. The creature was an enormous shape with the paws of a lion and the head of a crocodile. Its body was partly covered in short yellow hair and green scales, and its face was little more than vicious yellow eyes and a long, enormous mouth of sharp fangs. From the drooling beast came a hollow laughter and the floor opened again, this time into a bottomless, fiery abyss. Still laughing and holding the man, the demon half hopped, half ran to the hole and disappeared in it, flames licking the walls of the pit.

As his avatar vanished along with Ammit the assassin felt as if he suddenly was ripped in two, as if his skin was torn from his flesh in one single brutal tear. His heart beat faster than it ever had and his body was covered in sweat, sticking his clothes to his body. He was hurting everywhere from the inside, like his very bones had caught fire. He threw his head back in pain, and the chains rattled loudly as his muscles shoke when he held back a scream.

''No!'' he yelled when he managed to catch his breath, although he was not sure of what happened to him.

''_Silence!_'' the woman spat, coming up to him, her iris-less eyes nailed to his face.

He now understood what she said, even though she spoke a language completely unknown to him.

''Who are you?'' he asked, still out of breath, throat burning.

''_I am Maat,_'' the woman answered with her deep, slow voice. ''_I am the goddess of justice and judgement, and it is I who lead souls to their salvation or damnation._''

She paused, her mouth drawn in a strict line.

''_You took the life of an innocent man, Son of no one,_'' she accused, ''_then you touched the Scale that brought you before me to be judged for this crime. What was taken by the Devourer was your soul, for your flaws weighted heavier than the good in you. However, the burden of taking the man's life also rests on other shoulders than yours. The ones who hired you will be held responsible, and I will offer you the chance to righten the wrong. What cost you your soul, Son of no one, is your lack of humanity. You have lost it, your fear, your love and your remorse._''

She paused again.

''_Anger and defiance have been your only allies for years, but you are not dead yet. Become human again, Son of no one, and your soul shall be restituted to you._''

In a blinding flash of light the assassin was back in the streets of Jerusalem. Everything was as he had left it, as if he never had been gone at all. The corpse of the Egyptian was still lying at the corner of the warehouse, blood oozing from the deep wound in his neck to pool on the ground.

The loss of his soul affected the assassin throughout his whole life but he did not change. Never did he love anyone. Neither did he feel fear when his life was on the line nor did he feel remorse for the ones he took.

* * *

><p>His time in this world was up. More than sixty years had passed since he had lost his soul to the monster and the abyss, and he had failed the task that had been given to him. Again taking the Weighing Scale and the Feather in his hands, he took a long, deep breath. They had not lost their beauty, glowing in the candlelight like they just had been polished. He placed the Feather on the plate and felt himself drawn into the temple again. Maat sat in her throne, majestuous and magnificent as before.<p>

''_You failed_'' she said simply.

''Yes.''

The assassin felt something fill him, something he had lost little by little. He was not dreaming, but he knew from the beginning that this still not was his soul being returned to his body. It was youth. His back straightened itself up, his eyesight became what it once was. He watched in awe as the wrinkles on his skin disappeared, the years and the old man's weariness being carried off his shoulders. The Master Assassin's robes became the ones he once wore, simple and white, and he stood before the goddess, the exact same man he had been many decades ago.

A hint of a smile played with Maat's lips.

''_So let us try again._''


	2. Chapter 2

**''The Judgement of Maat'' **Chapter 2  
>Feel free to tell me what you think andor review!  
>Remember, it's easier for me to improve my writing if there is feedback ;D<p>

* * *

><p>Ezio closed the book he had been reading since early this evening and yawned. The library was dark and had been so for hours, when everyone else had gone to bed one after the other. The Creed's impressive underground fortress was cold, silent. The noises from the city above were muffled by 50 feet of earth and stone, and the labyrinth guarding the only entrance hindered outsiders from finding the hideout by mistake. Only the Assassins knew their way through its many dead ends and traps. The Creed's underground network was an enormous place containing everything they needed but the young man still felt like he was in a prison as there were no windows and his uncle had strictly forbidden him to go out. Tired and bored after reading for hours in the light of just a few candles, he stretched out his upper body over the long polished table in front of him, face down on the smooth surface. The movement of his muscles made the bandaged wound over his ribs throb in pain.<p>

_Right. That would be why uncle Mario doesn't want me to go out on missions yet._

Four days before, Ezio had gotten in a fight with a few too many corrupt guards working for the Templars. The fight ended up being more public than desirable and one of his adversaries got in a lucky hit. Still lying on the table, Ezio balled his hands into fists at the memory. He had let his defenses down, jeopardized the mission and Mario had been furious. With good reason. The assassin stood up and brought the book with him back to one of the large shelves that covered three of the four walls from floor to ceiling. He yawned again and put the book back in place, then remarked a small rectangular irregularity on the underside of the shelf above. Curious, he pushed it. After a soft click the whole shelf swung away from the wall. Behind the books was a small dark room containing only one object, covered by a faded red cloth full of dust and cobwebs. Ezio picked it up, carried it to the table and into the candlelight without bothering to close the secret room behind him.

He dragged the cloth off the object. A scale of silver, egyptian by the look of it. The assassin passed a hand through the long stands of his dark brown hair and caressed the cold metal, admiring the finely crafted details. He was especially fond of the beautiful face of a woman engraved in the middle. He poked it and to his great surprise, the face came to life under his fingers. The eyes and mouth opened, and from between the lips escaped a thick odorless grey smoke. The smoke floated in the air and gathered on the polished floor a few feet from where Ezio stood. It seemed to take shape, a human shape which became more and more solid. The eyes and mouth closed and the smoke stopped.

''_Ma che_?'' Whispered the assassin.

A few paces from him lay a man. He was stretched out on the floor, his back to Ezio and was either asleep or unconscious. Closing in and kneeling beside him, Ezio observed that other was dressed in a familiar way with a long white hooded robe, a thick leather belt, a red sash and leather boots. The Italian's trained eyes remarked at once where the secret weapons the man carried were hidden, and although the newcomer's equipment was different from his, Ezio was not in doubt that he belonged to the Creed. Hesitating at first, he touched the stranger's shoulder, swung him over to his back and removed the hood covering his face. He was young, about the same age as him or perhaps a couple of years older. His eyes were closed and his lips were slightly apart, bearing a vertical scar identical to Ezio's in the exact same place. Intrigued, the young man touched his own scar and wondered how such a coincidence was possible.

The other's hair was light brown and cut short, his features those of a determined man of action and his skin was tanned golden by the sun. His left hand lacked most of the ring finger, something Ezio recognized as the sacrifice the use of the hidden blade required in the old days. Suddenly, the assassin's eyes snapped open and the hand with the severed finger grabbed the front of Ezio's tunic. The mechanism at the man's right arm clicked, and Ezio felt the sharp edge of a well-known blade push against his throat. But for once he was the one at its mercy, not the one wielding it. He found himself starring into cold grey eyes.

''Where am I? Who are you?'' Growled the other.

The two stared at eachother for a couple of seconds before Ezio answered calmly:

''You're in Italy and my name is Ezio Auditore.''

The man pushed himself up to a seated position, not easing his grip on the Italian.

''Which year is it?''

''1484.''

The grey eyes widened a bit. He retracted the blade and let go of Ezio's tunic.

''Look,'' the younger said, ''judging from your clothes and weapons, I see that you belong to the Creed. Yet you seem different.''

The other scoffed, looking him up and down sarcastically.

''_You_ belong to the Creed too? You are either lying or incompetent. You let yourself be grabbed like nothing.''

His remark stung and it was Ezio's turn to squeeze the man's shoulders, shaking him roughly.

''Shut up! My abilities are none of your buisness, _bastardo_! Who are you anyway, and why do you come from this strange scale?''

The other scoffed again:

''I am Altair. I got trapped into this thing.''

Ezio scanned his face, incredulous.

''That would explain why you seem different,'' he mumbled after a moment, ''and that would also explain why you treat me like an _idiota_...'' A teasing grin stretched his lips and he added: ''...but not why you're wearing novice robes.''

''You little...''

Ezio stood up before Altair got the chance to grab him again.

''So, _Altair_.''

''You do not believe me.'' The other grumbled, also standing up.

''That's not it. I am just wondering what I will make of you until tomorrow morning...''

The brown eyes wandered to the secret room, which was still open. Altair followed his gaze and the Italian's grin grew wider, uncovering white teeth.

''What? Nononono, I'm not going in the...''

Unfortunately for him, Ezio had forseen the difficulty and the Italian's hard fist connected with his jaw without warning. The Arab's head snapped back and his body fell limp to the floor. Ezio gripped the unconscious man under the arms and dragged him over the floor, muttering between his teeth:

''He is going to be pissed at me in the morning.''

He unceremoniously propped Altair back against the wall, closed the shelves and went to bed.

* * *

><p>Early the next day Ezio walked into the library, candle in hand. The young man found the button under the shelf, pressed it and stepped aside to allow the shelves to unlock. Apparently, he was not far enough away. Altair threw himself at him as soon as the door opened, a hand tightening around the Italian's throat and shoving him down back first into the floor.<p>

''Whoopsies,'' smiled the youngest, ''someone is cranky. Ouch, my ribs...'' He added when Altair's knee accidentally pushed into his side.

''I'm going to kill you _so_ dead...'' The other spat, grey eyes shooting lightnings at the man under him, who despite being advantageless at that moment was rather enjoying himself.

Ezio decided to push things a bit further:

''You are going to kill me dead, and then?''

Altair leaned forward, snarling.

''I'm going to wipe that annoying little smile off that stupid face of yours first.''

''Hey! Whose face is stupid? Watch your mouth!''

Ezio's grin was gone.

''Seriously boys.'' A voice said from the other end of the room. ''Knock it off.''

Altair looked up and Ezio tipped his head backwards. In the door opening stood Mario Auditore, tall and strong with a heavy book tucked underneath his arm.

''Uncle!'' Ezio pushed Altair off him. ''You came!''

''Of course, I came.'' The middle-aged man replied. ''Your message sounded as if you had stumbled upon something rather curious and intresting.''

He pointed a large finger at Altair who looked confused. ''This is him?''

Ezio nodded. His uncle sat himself at the long table before the Scale and opened the old book.

''I found something in here.'' He said, browsing through the large amount of yellowed pages. ''I think it can shed some light upon what we're dealing with. Ah, here we are.''

The page the book was opened at was illustrated with the painting of a woman in white, a feather stuck in her golden headpiece.

''That's her.'' Altair said, looking over Ezio's shoulder.

''As I thought.'' Mario read out loud: ''_One of our world's most mysterious magical devices is the 'Scale of Maat', which was lost at the time of Christ. It is believed that the disappearance of the Scale is tied with Christendom taking over other religions, a time where magical pagan devices were destroyed so that their origins never could be proven. Many sources claim that the Scale of Maat survived. In ancient egyptian belief, the goddess Maat was the goddess of justice and judgement. Using the Scale, she would measure the weight of a heart against that of her Feather. The owner of the heart was allowed to pass into the next world if he or she was free from sin, for the heart of a person without sin would weigh less than Maat's Feather. However, if the owner had lived a sinful life, the heart would be heavier than the Feather. The demon goddess Ammit would then rise from her fiery pit and eat the heart, dragging the owner into the underworld_.''

Ezio shrugged:

''That was not very helpful. He's neither in heaven nor hell, he is here! And alive too!''

''Believe me, being stuck here with you is nothing I ever wished for.'' Altair snarled.

''Silence, the both of you! There is more. _Usually, the ones judged by Maat are the dead, but the Scale renders the contact between the living and the goddess possible. Once the Feather is placed upon the Scale by a living, he or she will be brought before Maat and judged. In those cases, the soul is measured, not the heart. It is said that the goddess can offer those she feels can better themselves another chance. Transcending time is not a problem for a deity possessing her powers, and if the judged living manages his or her betterment, the soul is given back_.''

Mario closed the book and pointed a finger at the Scale:

''Now, if this is not the one I'm looking at, I am willing to be transformed into a pair of pettipants.'' He turned to Altair. ''My guess is that you placed the Feather on the plate.''

''Yes. Maat promised to give me my soul back if I straightened up some... flaws of mine. I lived my life without doing so and she gave me yet another chance. She brought my youth back and put me into a deep sleep until the 'moment was right'.''

Mario was nodding while the Arab spoke, his arms crossed over his chest. Ezio looked to his uncle.

''Don't tell me you believe him! Right, he has a myth to back up his story, but he could be anyone!''

''There is one way to find out.'' Mario said.

He asked the Arab questions from the Codex, to which Altair answered flawlessly. Mario finally clapped his hands into his lap.

''I'm satisfied.'' He said to Ezio. ''The answers are found in the pages we have collected, and only me, you and Leonardo are familiar with their content.''

''But Altair's body was found!''

''Anyone could have been burried in his stead.''

The young man gave up, sighing heavily, defeated. Mario stood up, taking the book in one hand and the Scale of Maat in the other.

''Since there is no way we can send him back to his own time,'' he said, ''he might as well stay here and help us.''

''In this time and place, you are the leader.'' Altair replied, bowing his head in respect. ''I will do as you command.''

Mario nodded again.

''Good. Ezio, show him where to stay. If you need me, I'll be in my office.''

He went out, leaving the two others in the library.

''Come on.'' Ezio mumbled and nudged Altair's shoulder, urging him forward.

The room Altair would stay in was at the end of the large hallway that ran through the whole hideout. At one end were the sleeping quarters, at the other was the large staircase that lead to the second floor, where the offices and Mario's apartments were. The whole way between the staircase and the sleeping quarters were doors that lead to the library, the kitchen, the storing rooms, the armoury and the training grounds. The Italian lead the other down the hallway and opened a door to a small corridor with a wooden floor. On both sides were other doors leading to individual bedrooms. The one Altair was given was small but clean. In a corner stood a bed, in another were a simple table and a chair. Ezio placed the candle he held on the table.

''You'll be sleeping here.'' He said, his back half turned to Altair. ''And by the way, about our little fight, you know... I know I punched you, but you kneed my wound when you jumped at me and you called me stupid. Are we somewhat... even?''

The Arab sighed in annoyance. He was not in the mood for this, but slapped the Italian at the back of the head nevertheless.

''Ow! What was that for?''

''_Now_ we're even.''


	3. Chapter 3

**''The Judgement of Maat'' **Chapter 3  
>You were warned by 'romance' being one of the genres, so no hating!<p>

* * *

><p>''We should be able to take the stitches out in a day or two.'' The doctor announced, clapping a bony hand on Ezio's muscular shoulder.<p>

He had just finished checking that the healing of the wound on the assassin's ribs went normally. Since Mario had forbidden him to go out Ezio had gotten all the rest he needed but felt bored and restless. The doctor packed his things down, cleaned his tools and sat himself behind his desk while Ezio buttoned his shirt and tied the complicated belt around his abdomen.

''Try to be more careful next time. Keeping getting wounded because of your recklessness... that could get you killed, boy.''

Ezio just smiled at him and went out, pulling the hood down over his eyes. The doctor's office was on the second floor of the Assassins' underground fortress, and the young man had in mind to go see his uncle whose office was a few doors away on the same floor. He stopped in his tracks. Mario was coming out of his office right now, going to stand on the top of the large staircase and shouted down to someone in the hallway:

''Altair! Come here, please.''

Mario went back to his office without seeing his nefew looking at him, leaving the door open. Soon after, the tan assassin came up the stairs and followed him in, closing the door behind him. Ezio frowned. Altair had worked like mad the last two weeks to memorize the city and its infrastructure and had come to know Rome rather well. He had gotten all the missions Ezio could not take because of his condition, which bugged the Italian.

Things were not so great between them to say the least. Altair was serious, always working and Ezio liked to laugh and play around, their differences often leading to disagreements and clashes. Altair found the younger man stubborn and hot-headed and Ezio found Altair boring and far too concerned about rules. They worked together perfectly when there was no time for anything else, but if there was they would always criticize eachother. Ezio would soon give up arguing and start teasing, calling the Arab dull and lacking imagination, and he would endlessly irritate himself over the fact that Altair did not seem to give a damn about what he thought. The older assassin would simply cross his arms and let Ezio mock as he pleased, far too calm for Ezio's liking.

The Italian hated it, and sometimes he wondered if he did not dislike the other because his uncle gave the man a lot of attention. No, it could not be. Ezio Auditore was never jealous of anyone. Their bickering had almost lead to a fight once or twice when they were sparring. The Italian had been uanble to keep silent, wanting to draw any reaction he could get from the impassive man. He was not capable of fighting at full strength due to his wounds and lost, thrown to the ground by an unexpected kick to the chest.

_Damn this blasted wound!_

Altair had walked away wordlessly afterwards, leaving him on the floor. Ezio had only seen Altair angered once but really wanted to see it again. He longed to see fiery indignation light up the man's silver eyes and feel his rage against him for something he provoked. What he did for now was not enough. His teasing as it was now would not force any reaction from the other, but what would?

Eager to whip himself back into shape after half a month of rest and no serious training, he decided to forget his uncle and Altair until he was called for and went down the stairs to the hallway.

''You and you,'' he said to a couple of novices who studied a map by the entry of the library and jumped at the sound of his voice, ''come with me.''

''But, master Ezio...''

''No _buts,_ you two need training. Even my dead grandmother could take you on. _Pronto!_''

* * *

><p>''Do you know who this is?'' Mario Auditore asked, throwing a piece of parchment down on his overoccupied desk.<p>

Altair picked it up and studied the drawing of a middle-aged man with a nose crooked by an old fracture, black short hair and small sharp eyes sketched upon it.

''I've never seen him before.''

''I suspected as much. Well, you have only been in our time a couple of weeks, so it would be strange if you knew every bastard that's out there already. His name is Frédérique Lacroix, a Templar. He is not very well known in Italy and the French had a lot of problems with him a while back. He is wanted for the murders of several important politicians and members of the clergy, but unfortunately they could not catch him before he fled the country. The best they could do was to order him killed on sight if he ever returned.''

The leader of the Assassins held his hands behind his back and began walking around his desk.

''It is impossible to know exactly how many murders have been orchestrated with his help,'' he went on, ''but his services are often hired by state- and church members who wish to wipe out their concurrents in silence. Scandals, kidnappings, murders, you name it. And now, several of my spies have reported to me that he is here in Rome. We need to find out what he is up to, but my spies do not dare approach him.''

Altair nodded.

''Ah, there is this too.'' Mario patted and old leather folder full of loose yellowed pages. ''I did a little research, sendt letters here and there and finally managed to find out who really hired you back in 1192. They are called 'The Knights of the Cross', a special unit within the Templars. They are more agressive, more fanatical and much, much more dangerous than the regular. I believe they wanted the Scale to destroy it, as it has the power of proving the existance of the egyptian pantheon, something they see as a pagan abomination. Had you brought it back to them they would also have killed you. The Scale was apparently placed in our care so they couldn't find it.''

''Very well.'' The Arab looked at him, a slight look of confusion upon his fine features. ''Lacroix is one of them?''

''Clever boy.''

Mario smiled, often forgetting that Altair actually was way older than him although he looked no older than twenty-seven.

''I feel that you and the Scale are somewhat connected, so I figured I should give the task of finding out what Lacroix is up to to you.''

Altair nodded again and was about to walk out of the office when he froze.

''By the way, sir...''

''Yes?''

''Do you know where the Feather is?''

''No, I do not.'' Mario sighed. ''It is not in our possession and there are no traces of it anywhere I've looked.''

The sketch of Lacroix in hand, Altair was returning to his room when he heard voices and sounds of fighting coming from the open door to the training grounds:

''But, master Ezio, we are tired! And we haven't even started with those things in our training yet!''

''_Bene!_Then this is the perfect time to learn! Look, you do this, bring up your arm like so. And don't forget the heel kick to the gut, that's essential...''

''Oof!''

The Arab framed himself in the doorway and crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze scanning the area. The training grounds were a big room with walls of crude, roughly cut stone. The place was lit by the warm light of copper chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and the floor was covered with a thick layer of red sand. All along the walls were wooden benches, one of them carrying Ezio's robes, hood, belt and weapons except for the hidden blades he had kept at his arms. The Italian stood barechested in the middle of the room with two low-ranked assassins, apparently trying to teach them techniques for which they were not ready yet.

One of the novices sat on the ground before Ezio, panting heavily and holding his abdomen while his friend stood a few steps away, trembling at the idea of what the higher ranked assassin would 'teach' them next. They both looked like they were about to run home to their mother, impressed and exhausted by the more experienced man's vigorous training. Ezio was hardly sweating, his strong, hard yet supple muscled body not even bearing marks of taking any hits.

''Did you get it?'' He asked the young man on the floor. ''No? Well, one more time. You, come here.''

''What, me?'' The second novice pointed a finger at his own chest, horrified.

''No, the cute fluffy kitten over there in the corner. Of course, you. Come on!''

Ezio froze, suddenly aware of the presence of the man he disliked.

''Speaking of cats. Hello, Altair.''

The brown eyes and the grey ones met and the two assassins glared at eachother. The Arab's face was serious, the Italian's was mocking. Meanwhile, the novices helped eachother up, and looking back and forth between their superiors, made their way slowly to the door.

''You two are back tomorrow at the same time, understand?'' Ezio told them without breaking the eyecontact with Altair.

The novices nodded quickly, eager to be out of the place as fast as possible and slipped past Altair who looked after them as they ran down the hallway.

''Is this how you get back into shape?'' He asked, raising an eyebrow. ''You beat up recruits?''

''Well, I need something to do when my uncle gives _you_all the good assignments.'' Ezio answered in a sarcastic tone, twisting long stands of brown hair between his scarred fingers.

''You are not fully healed yet.''

''There are _some_things I can do. Not every mission is about killing or beating someone up, you know. And since you've been so kind and volonteered to be my next opponent, I'll show you.''

''I didn't.''

''By interrupting the training, you did.''

Ezio crossed his arms over his chest, a mischievous grin stretching his thin lips. The other rolled his eyes and turned around to leave:

''I don't have time for you and your silly little gam...''

Something hit him in the back and he stopped, a hand on the door frame.

''Did you just throw sand at me?''

Altair's voice was ice cold, but Ezio grinned like a fool and threw a new fistful of sand at him for good measure. The way the man's body tensed under his clothes as he fought for self-domination was very visible and amused him.

''Seems like I ruined your pretty white robes. So, you wanna play or not?''

Altair did not reply. He turned around, gave Ezio a steely look and went to a bench to rid himself of his thick leather belt and most of his deadly weapons, hidden blade included. He trew down the hood too and walked to the centre of the room where Ezio was waiting for him.

They started to walk around eachother, both measuring the other before Ezio made the first move, closing in fast. A high kick aimed for Altair's ribs, but his target countered it with a kick of his own. The Italian kicked one of the other man's legs out from under him, which landed Altair in a crouching position. He grabbed the back of Ezio's knees and pulled brutally. Destabilized, Ezio fell, losing his breath when his back connected with the ground. The other assassin stood up, towering over him, jaw clenched.

''Careful,'' Ezio half laughed, half coughed in a cloud of red dust, ''I'm on a recovery here.''

''You started it, I ended it.''

Before he could react the younger assassin jumped up like a spring and slammed his right wrist into his throat. Both men fell to the ground, with Ezio using the pressure of the blade and that of his own weight to hold the Arab down.

''Never lower your guard, Altair. That was the second time so far.'' He said.

Altair gave him an unimpressed look and started to move.

''A-ah. No moving! I need to enjoy my victory for a bit. Hey... what's this?''

The parchment with the sketch was poking out from the front of Altair's robes. Ezio yanked it out, shook it with one hand to unfold it and laughed:

''Your next target is Frédérique Lacroix? Now that's a dangerous fish.''

''Give it back.''

Altair streched after the parchment but Ezio kept it out of his reach, caught both of his wrists and kept them tight to the ground above the man's head with one hand.

''I told you not to move.''

''That's enough. Get off of me.''

The Italian's fingers shifted a bit, testing his grip around Altair's bare wrists before tightening it further, feeling the other's bones grind against oneanother under the skin. He scoffed lightly when the tan assassin winced for the fraction of a second. Finally he had an idea.

''Not yet.''

''Why the hell not?''

''Because it pisses you off.''

''And?''

He lay down over the other and whispered:

''And it's fun.''

He pulled away a little, cocking his head to the side and watched Altair tip his head back and squeeze his eyes shut when the grip tighened even more.

''Am I hurting you?''

The only answer he got was a brief, poisonous glance. Not without satisfaction, he felt the Arab's body tense under his when he placed the tip of an index on the man's forehead and stroke it down his face, over his nose. He let it linger on his lips before letting it continue to his throat and collarbone. Altair groaned in irritation, turning his head away to avoid looking at the annoying man straddling his hips. Ezio chuckled:

''Is it really a good idea to expose your neck to me?''

The fingers of his free hand tugged the collar of the white robes aside slightly to leave the skin bare, his gaze following the unprotected line of Altair's neck before he gave it a hard bite to illustrate his point.

''Gah!''

The body under Ezio's jolted and Altair turned his head back, kicking his knee into the Italian's back.

''Ow! Now that was sneaky!''

''You get off right now or I swear I'll do far worse.''

Ezio scoffed, grin gone. The ice in the Arab's voice indicated that his plan worked, and he was pleased to see red the print of his teeth mark the side of the other's neck angrily.

''As you wish, then.''

He let the man's wrists go, stood up and walked to the benches, picked up his clothes and weapons and was silently gone out the door. Altair sat himself up, shaking with rage. His fists closed around handfuls of sand and tightened so hard his knuckles were white.

_Give me the strength not to kill him next time I see him._


	4. Chapter 4

**''The Judgement of Maat'' **Chapter 4  
>Bad guys in the spotlight!<p>

* * *

><p>Warm rain cascaded like a sheet of water upon the roofs of Rome. The night had fallen early and the sky was black like tar. Drenched to the skin, Altair ran and jumped from roof to roof, fast as a cat and silent as a wolf, his footseps unheard against the tiles. The streets were empty. People had found shelter in their homes hours ago when the rain had started pouring but the assassin was still being careful not to be seen. He found the house he was looking for just on the outside of the Vatican. It was a large three floors tall wooden construction with a red tile roof. On the roof were two large windows and the two upper floors had balconies of rusty forged iron. It looked empty and abandoned. The assassin lay down by one of the windows, took a small knife out from his leather boot. He found the opening mechanism and applied pressure on it with the slim blade until he heard it click. He opened the window by a couple of inches and waited, his senses sharp.<p>

About ten minutes later, five persons entered the third floor, carrying lit candles which they placed on the floor in a large circle in the middle of the room. The floor was dirty and their capes whipped up clouds of dust. In a corner, a family of rats hurried back into their hole in the wall. One of the newcomers, he who seemed to be the leader, took off his cape and hood, grabbed a fragile wooden chair and sat himself on it. Lacroix. He looked tired and unshaven, black stubble darkening his chin. The light from the candles deepened the shadows of his face and shone in his piercing blue eyes. He pointed at two of his companions:

''You, go guard the front door.''

The men nodded and left, footsteps fading down the stairs while Frédirique Lacroix remained with the last two of his followers. One was rather small and slim, a woman. The other was the complete opposite. The woman went to Lacroix, placed her hands on his shoulders and said:

''How long will we be staying, _amore_?''

''As long as I deem necessary. What we do is not done in a hurry, you know. I just hope that this damn cardinal has the guts to show up in person.''

The woman ran a hand through her lover's short hair and stroke the large golden ring on his left hand. She had kept her hood on, but the third person was now taking off his, throwing it back between his shoulder blades. Altair had never seen such an impressive giant of a man. The Templar was muscular like a bull and stood about seven feet tall. His red hair was cropped close to his skull and the large scar running from the right side of his forehead to the left side of his jaw parted his face in two. The blow that had given him the scar had also ruined his right eye and cut into his lips, forever freezing them into a stiff snarl. The right eye was milky white and blind while the other was dark green, but the man looked by no means like a stupid brute. He and Lacroix wore the same dark blue tunic with a grey cross wreathed in thorns on the chest, the symbol of the Knights of the Cross.

Someone knocked at the door and Lacroix turned to the giant:

''Jaques, _peux-tu ouvrir_?''

The red-haired man went to open and three people entered. One was obviously a cardinal, wearing a dark cape over his scarlet cassock and the two others seemed to be his bodyguards. They cast anxious looks at Jaques, whose large fists were undoubtedly capable of grinding their bones into dust in a matter of seconds. The cardinal, a man in his fifties, refused the chair that was offered to him, preferring to stand in front of the door with his men. The bodyguards' hands never left the handles of their swords and they did a poor job at hiding it. Frédérique Lacroix's mistress and fellow Templar stood behind their smiling leader.

''Relax, _mon cher Balducci_.''

The Frenchman rested his chin on his knuckles, blue eyes fixed upon the man of the Church.

''Look,'' said the cardinal whose nervousness was betrayed by his slightly trembling movements, ''I want you to rid me of this man. He has been a thorn in my side for far too long.''

Lacroix's smile widened.

''This is what I do. I get rid of people like him for people like you who pay people like me large sums of money for my services.''

''I want Alberico Morelli out of the game. He knows too much. If he goes public with how I became...''

Lacroix raised a hand to stop him:

''I do not need to hear your reasons. What I need is who and how you want him gone. I also need you to know that changing the deal after it has been sealed will cost you dear. If you decide to hold the payement or try to get us killed after we kept our part of the bargain... let's say it could get rather messy. Am I clear?''

Jaques crossed his massive arms over his muscular chest. The cardinal tensed and forced himself to look Lacroix directly in the eyes.

''I would be out of my mind to try anything like this with members of the Knights of the Cross. When it comes to how you choose to tear Morelli apart, it's up to you as long as it can not be traced back to me. But do it swiftly. As for your payement...''

''The price will be decided later, when we have analysed the situation. The time needed to study the target, find his weak spots and plan how we will exploit them always varies. A whole lot of things can complicate themselves before we get there. We should need about three days before we have news. Come back then, same place, same time. Good night, cardinal.''

Balducci and his men understood that they had stayed as long as they were welcome and left, escorted back downstairs by the Frenchman's two guards. The woman stepped forward and caressed her lover's hair again:

''Sometimes I think you enjoy watching these foolish old men conspirate against eachother.''

''_Ma chère,_'' Lacroix replied, taking her hand from his head and kissing it, ''you truely know me better than anyone.''


	5. Chapter 5

**''The judgement of Maat''** Chapter 5

* * *

><p>''Altair! One is getting away!''<p>

The Arab's attention was drawn to his partner. Standing on the flat roofs of two parallel houses, the Assassins had been surrounded by ten or more guards each. Again, the mission Ezio was given ended up messier than planned. Mario had asked Altair to watch his nefew from a distance and to step in if things went wrong, which they had. Ezio had gotten chased over twenty guards, and the fight would have gotten ugly if Altair had not arrived and taken half of his pursuers off him.

All of the Arab's enemies were now scattered around him, dead, dying or unconscious. Ezio still had a couple of his to take out and one had managed to escape as soon as the Assassin had got his back turned. Panicked, the man ran as fast as he could through the narrow alley under Altair's feet, desperately trying to reach one of the busy main streets to get reinforcements. Letting go of a guard he just had stabbed to death, the silver-eyed Assassin did not even have to calculate his move. White robes catching the wind like the wings of an eagle, he let himself fall from the building and landed on the soldier, breaking the man's neck in the process.

A terrified gasp to his right made him aware of a woman's presence.

_Shit. _

She had been standing so close to the wall that he had not seen her, but she had seen everything. The Assassin stood up slowly from the twisted body in the mud, eyes fixed upon her from under his hood. At the sight of the tall dangerous killer advancing menacingly at her, the woman let out a small whimper and stepped back until she hit the wall and had nowhere to go. A hand lacking a finger closed around her throat firmly. The man in white growled:

''Wrong place at the wrong time, huh?''

''P-please,'' the woman pleaded, ''let me go! I won't tell anyone, I swear!''

The shadows of the hood hid the higher part of Altair's face, but she did not have to look into his eyes to understand that he would be her death. Scarred lips stretched into a snarl:

''Sorry, I can't take that chance.''

The hand around her throat started to tighten when another hand shot out of nowhere and grabbed his wrist.

''_Bastardo_! What the hell are you doing?''

The Arab let go of the woman who fell on her knees, coughing. He yanked his wrist free from Ezio's grasp and turned to him.

''She saw me.''

''So she has to suffer for your mistake? We never kill innocent people! I think I'm starting to understand why Maat took your soul.''

The tan Assassin just scoffed at him in response. The Italian removed his hood from his head, kneeled beside the woman and took her hands in his.

''Are you hurt?''

She looked at him, uncertain if she could trust him or not. Ezio helped her up, warm brown eyes looking into her black ones. She was in her late twenties, with beautiful voluminous blonde hair and fair skin.

''My name is Ezio.'' The young Assassin smiled.

''Marcia.''

''Beautiful. Please forgive my partner here, he gets so... easily carried away.''

Altair sneered. Ezio ignored him and continued:

''How can I make it up to you?''

Marcia's eyes were studying his face and it was obvious that she liked what she saw. And so did he. She was small but curvy at the right places, her well-proportioned hips bringing out the elegance of her slim waist. Full breasts tightened the blue fabric of the dress across her chest, the low neckline exposing seductive soft skin.

''Well... I moved here to Rome quite recently,'' she said, ''I don't know the city so well, but none of my relatives really want to get to know it. They are here strictly for buisness. Could I ask you to show me around?''

''A great idea! Whenever you want.''

Marcia smiled, white teeth slightly biting her bottom lip. She picked up the basket she had dropped when Altair landed on the guard and said:

''Tomorrow evening, then. Meet me at the marketplace.''

She winked at him and left. Ezio stood in the middle of the alley, looking after her as she disappeared around a corner.

''You're one lecherous fool, you know that?''

''Huh?''

Ezio turned to Altair, only to be met by a scornful expression.

''Come on. You aren't offering her a favour purely out of the kindness of your heart.''

''You wound me!'' Ezio laughed.

He came up to Altair and placed himself in front of him.

''So, what seems to be the problem now, Grumpy? Hm? Couldn't sleep last night?''

The other did not even bother to grace the question with an answer.

''No? Soooo... are you jealous?''

''Of who?''

''Of me.''

''Should I be?''

''Well... I'm the one having an appointment with a wonderful creature.''

Altair sneered again, his gaze hard:

''I have no intrest in women stupid enough to find you attractive.''

''Ouch.''

Ezio grinned and placed his hands against the wall on each side of his partner's head, invading his personal space.

''Are you jealous of her, then?''

''For having a shameless idiot on her tail? Please.''

The Italian, who was the tallest by an inch, leaned closer so the tip of his nose poked lightly at Altair's cheekbone. The Arab froze.

''Are you afraid that me giving her my attention will leave you all alone with nobody to complicate your existence?''

''The Templars complicate it more than enough, thank you very much.''

Ezio took his time brushing the tip of his nose over his partner's cheek all the way to his jawline.

''Why don't you push me away, _amico_? Standing still is very unlike you.''

''I'm just waiting for you to remove yourself when you don't get what you want.''

Ezio stopped.

''I see. And what do I want?''

''A reaction. Anger.''

Altair fell silent. He felt Ezio's face move as the younger man smiled.

''What I want, I usually get.''

The Italian leaned forward, trapping the other between the wall and his body and nudged his chin up with the bridge of his nose. The Arab offered little resistance, but Ezio felt him tense up at the unpleasant idea of leaving his throat vulnerable and bare. Eyelids lowered, the youngest waited a couple of seconds, lips brushing against the underside of Altair's chin before he opened his jaws to catch the older Assassin's throat between his teeth. He did not bite down hard but let his teeth scrape against the skin. He worked his way slowly down to Altair's collarbone and up again, grinning at the sound of the man's breath shaking in irritation.

Altair fought against the temptation to push the teasing Italian off. Stubborn, he managed to remain firm, knowing that giving Ezio the reaction he hoped for was the same as accepting defeat. The bites were small silent threats, reminders of which of them had the upper hand for now. Ezio's repeated biting left his skin raw and sensitive, and the rougher it got, the more difficult it became for him to stand still. The Italian breathed a little faster than before and Altair could hear gloved hands slowly sliding down the brick wall, one coming to a halt at the level of his ear and the other gripping his shoulder.

Ezio stopped. He let go of his partner's thoat, smiled at its movement when Altair swallowed. This was highly amusing. The other stuggled to remain as calm as possible, but Ezio wasn't fooled. He knew Altair all too well, knew when he was calm for real. And now was not the case. The Arab stood still because he was determined to do so, nothing more. Smug, Ezio let his hand on Altair's shoulder slide down the man's spine, fingers digging hard enough into his back to leave long marks through the tunic and robes. His arm went around Altair's waist and pulled his partner's body tighter against his own.

Altair grimaced when Ezio's mouth met the side of his neck, but to his suprise no teeth were involved this time. Lips parted, warm and moist and too soft for comfort. Feeling damn close to humiliated he squeezed his eyes shut, letting Ezio's mouth knead and suck at his skin, knowing that anger only would make things worse.

''Mh.''

He snapped his eyes open. Had that low sound really been coming from Ezio? And what the hell was he doing? Altair could understand the logic behind wordless threats saying _I could rip your throat out with my teeth if I wanted_, but this? Ezio's lower lip rubbed firmly against the fragile skin and Altair failed to restrain a gasp, his back arching slightly but completely against his will. He knew there was no way Ezio hadn't felt it. The Italian soon stopped his torture and rested his chin on his partner's shoulder.

''Impressive,'' he chuckled, ''I would've thought you'd hit me at some point.''

''You have no idea of how satisfying that would be.''

Ezio scoffed and let go of him.

''Now if you excuse me, I have other things to do.''

Pulling down the hood over his eyes, the Italian left in the direction of his closest favourite brothel.

_I was supposed to enjoy this... but not like that!_

* * *

><p>''So, how did it go?'' Mario asked, putting some reports down on his desk.<p>

''Ezio killed the target. He was spotted but that got taken care of.''

Altair was in Mario Auditore's office on the second floor of the underground headquarters.

''So no problems or anything I should know about?''

Altair lowered his eyes, looking at the floor. He hoped that the white hood hid the red marks on his throat properly.

_Trust me, some things are better left unsaid._

''No, sir.''

Mario nodded briefly.

''What did you find out yesterday?''

''Lacroix was called to Rome by a cardinal named Balducci. He wanted his help to take down a man named Alberico Morelli.''

''Another cardinal. Amazing how they always seem to be at eachother's throats.''

''Lacroix got at least three of his men and a woman with him. Their next meeting is in two days' time, they needed to 'analyse the situation' first.''

Mario sat down behind his desk, scratching his unshaven chin.

''Our friend rarely travels with more people than he strictly needs and they always are fellow Knights of the Cross. But a woman, you say? Strange. They never allow women into their ranks.''

''It seemed to me that she was his mistress.''

''That's not enough. He must plan to use her for something, like for example to seduce the target or he would not have brought her.''

''Apparently, Morelli knows something about Balducci that must not become public.''

''I see. I will try to contact him and make him aware of the danger. Oh, and tell me: was there a very tall man with Lacroix? With a large scar across the face?''

''Yes, there was.''

The Italian closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

''So he's still alive, then.''

He sighed heavily:

''His name is Jaques Lefevre, a former French assassin. A great one too, his skill is almost as legendary as yours. He was never caught unprepared, took wise decisions and cared deeply about those in his command. He was a thorn in the Templars' side for years, the man was a hero.''

''What happened?''

''Ten years ago, the Assassins and the Templars in France got in a battle, a fierce and bloody one. The axe that destroyed Lefevre's face should have cleaved his skull but he survived. He knew it was near impossible. He had never been religious but started to believe that he was still alive for a reason, that some higher power might have saved his life. He changed side, feeling that becoming a Templar was a better way to serve God than staying an assassin, and the Knights of the Cross greeted him with open arms. All the damage he had dealt to the Templars, he would now deal to us.''

Mario sighed again, deep in his own thoughts.

''Do you think the injury made him go mad somehow?'' Altair asked.

''The blow did not do him any good, that's for sure. Whatever you do, _never_ attack him head-on.''


	6. Chapter 6

**''The judgement of Maat'' **Chapter 6

* * *

><p>Ezio looked down to the body under his. The prostitute's arms held him in a tight embrace, her hands stroking over his back and shoulders, nails trailing seductively over the many battle scars.<p>

''Is something wrong?'' She asked.

He had stopped. Not that he wasn't in the mood for sex, but right in the middle of it he had realized that his mind was not present in the brothel with him. Sure, the prostitute's warmth around him, her touch, her full breasts pressed up against his chest and the silky bed sheet on his skin were pleasant enough. But they weren't what he wanted. His thoughts wandered and ended up at the same point each time.

_Altair_.

Now, why was he thinking about the son of a bitch in the first place? When Ezio was with a woman, all thoughts about other things were unnecessary and unwelcome. It would seem that Altair was different.

_Merda._

''No, nothing's wrong, _bellissima_.''

Also trying to convince himself, he lay down over her again and resumed the act, mind still elsewhere.

There were some things that made Ezio proud of being who he was. His skills as an Assassin, his limitless love to what remained of his family and his ease with women. Few were the ones who resisted his well-buildt body and fine features, and his charm took care of those who wanted more than just looks. Unless they preferred playing it rough, of course. He could put his charm on hold for that.

Altair hated sweet. To him, it was almost similar to stupid. Rough worked if one was trying to pick a fight, and picking a fight with the Arab was like baiting a shark with blood. Teasing was something else entirely, for Altair's struggle to remain calm made him lower his guard.

_''I'm just waiting for you to remove yourself when you don't get what you want''__. _

He thought that if he stayed still long enough the Italian would tire of getting no reaction from him and withdraw. But forcing himself not to react to anything made him open for a lot.

_You're just arrogant. You always get the women you want and in the end it gets too easy, boring. He won't react to your touch like they do, but what fun it would be if he did, huh? Total humiliation, that's what awaits him if he does. You know, he knows. You would never let him live this down. The problem is, he doesn't give in. Seeing which one of you surrenders is going to be precious._

_What?_

_Come on. You rushing off to get yourself a whore wasn't without reason. Touching him awakened cravings you didn't think would come to life, and you hoped to satisfy them by running here. Stupido idiota. _

_Shut the hell up._

_Heh. You aren't even trying to deny that you wonder how it'd be to have his body in your bed._

The worst part was neither Ezio's thoughts wandering places he tried to avoid nor that he was having a conversation with himself in his own head. It was the fact that he knew what he confronted himself with to be true. He had tried to ridiculize his partner and thought that the worse thing that could happen was just getting himself beat up. The teasing had started as something to piss the other Assassin off but had ended as something else entirely. The man's skin had been surprisingly soft and the feeling of him pressed up against the Italian had been strangely satisfying. Before Ezio realized what he did he was sliding his hand down Altair's back, feeling his partner's body heat under his fingers. Hell, the thin layers of tunics and robes did little to conceal it from his touch.

Ezio did not doubt that a man's body felt as good to a woman as a woman's body felt to a man, but the thing was, he was a man and so was Altair. He was not supposed to take any pleasure in this.

_Still. That beautiful neck got you all distracted and curious about what kissing it would feel like. Well, now you know. And you enjoyed it. _

The satisfied sound he had emitted had not been part of the plan. He hated the thought of it. Why would a moan escape _him_? He kept reminding himself that he was not the only one affected. He had at least managed to surprise Altair enough to cause him to gasp, which had to count for something.

There and then, the urge to push his lips to his partner's had almost been overwhelming. In his defence, managing to mess with Altair demanded imagination and anyone would have wanted to know the feeling of this warm skin. Luckily, Ezio had been able to hold this sudden craving in an iron fist and had succeeded with keeping on pestering as if nothing happened inside.

Annoyed, he threw his head back and groaned in frustration, something the prostitute mistook for expressions of pleasure.

* * *

><p>The heavy wooden doors slammed shut behind Ezio. He rid himself of the torch he had been carrying in the labyrinth, sticking it in one of the forged iron holders fixed to the stone wall. He walked silently through the empty corridor of the underground headquarters, removing his white hood and freeing his long brown hair from its ties. He was undoing the buckles that held his cape over his left shoulder when he heard the ringing of metal coming from the armoury. The door was not completely closed and a light push was all it needed to open. At a tired wooden table sat Altair, hood off, his large leather belt and all its weapons scattered in front of him. When Ezio appeared in the door frame the Arab put down the sword he was sharpening, sighed and asked:<p>

''What do you want? To brag about your evening with the 'wonderful creature'?''

''It's not what I had in mind, but if you insist...'' the other grinned.

''Don't bother.''

Altair picked the sword up again and resumed his work while the Italian removed his own tools of combat from his clothes and sat down by his side. Ezio crossed his ankles, tipped his chair back and dropped his feet heavily on the table, making knives and blades clatter loudly.

''Could you not do that?''

''Do what?''

''Your boots are muddy. I just finished cleaning those weapons.''

''No, I'm comfortable sitting like this.''

If looks could kill. The Arab's grey eyes gave Ezio the coldest of stares but the Italian just grinned wider. Without a word Altair stood up and carried his belt and the blades he had finished sharpening to a work bench. Ezio watched him as he stuck the weapons that belonged in the belt back in place, gaze following the curve of his back.

_I'm doing it again._

Aware of where his thoughts went, Ezio concentrated upon sharpening his own tools. His partner walked back to the table and leaned against it, facing him.

''Feet down.''

''Like I said, I'm comfortable.''

Altair's hand reached out and slapped the back of Ezio's head.

''Ouch! That's the second time you do that to me!'' The Italian cried out, rubbing his skull.

''Feet. Down.''

''Make me.'' Ezio snorted.

''Oh, you want to play?''

Altair uncrossed his arms from over his chest and leaned closer, bringing his face only inches from the other's and hissed softly:

''I can play too.''

He slid his hand into the Italian's long hair and gave the dark strands a little tug. Ezio let out a short sigh, dropping the knife he held and grabbed Altair's arm, his thumb drawing small circles on the grey fabric of the tunic's sleeve. He cocked his head to the side, breathing through his mouth and sending out small puffs of air to tickle the other man's lips. The tan Assassin moved his hand from Ezio's hair to his chest, his touch light and caressing. Ezio was about to tip his chin up to lay his lips against the Arab's when Altair's hand gave a sudden push, sending the chair and the Italian crashing into the floor.

''You lose.'' Altair grinned as Ezio picked himself up.

''Shut up, _maldito_ _bastardo_.''

* * *

><p>The rain poured down heavier than ever. Altair's wet clothes clung uncomfortably to his body but there was nothing he could do about it. The darkness of night had fallen over Rome, and he waited patiently on the roof of the old house by the Vatican for Lacroix to show up. Now and then the moon appeared from behind the clouds, occasionally offering a little silver light.<p>

The room lit up, five people entering with candles just as they had done three days ago. The two same men went downstairs to guard the front door after having placed their candles on the floor, and Lacroix remained with his mistress and Lefevre. He did not bother sitting down like last time. Only after a couple of minutes the guards came up again, escorting Balducci and his two bodyguards. The man of the Church seemed to be in a hurry to see the Templar, his grey hair ruffled in all directions. He was out of breath and his face was red, as if he had been running up the stairs to get there faster.

''Well?'' He urged. ''Have you come up with something?''

''Yes,'' Lacroix answered calmly, coming up to him, ''_ma belle amie_ here is the one we need.''

He held his hand out for his mistress to step forward and take, which she did, her hood covering her face. He kissed her knuckles and rubbed his thumb over her fingers affectionately.

''A scandal? I want Morelli's mouth permanently shut! A scandal costs him his office at best!'' The cardinal thundered. ''Your whore won't be good for anything in this delicate situation!''

The blade of the Templar was on his throat in the blink of an eye. The bodyguards rushed forward, unsheathing their swords but the red-haired giant stepped in between them and the cardinal, his remaining eye giving out a silent warning. The bodyguards stopped and stared at the mountain of a man before finally dropping their hands.

Lacroix's deadly glare bit into the cardinal's eyes. The Frenchman urged Balducci to step back, walking him in circles by the tip of his sword.

''Listen very cerfully you little pig,'' he growled, ''I would kill you for insulting this woman if I had anything to gain from taking your pitiful life. Unfortunately, I want something from you and I find the thought of defiling my sword with your blood utterly disgusting.''

He brought the cardinal into a halt.

''My plan isn't as stupidly simple as you suggest. On the contrary to what most people think, my dear friend here is a highly educated and capable woman. She seduces men with so much more than just her body. A man like Morelli wouldn't fall for a common whore, but she is neither a whore nor common. Blending into the sophisticated crowd, attracting the cardinal's attention and getting close to him is not a problem for her. Her knowledge will serve us well, especially that of poisons. Isn't it so, _ma chère_?''

He turned his head to the woman.

''I can make something that'll kill him as soon as his lips touch his glass.'' She cackled.

''There you see.'' He turned back to Balducci.

''But it will take days, perhaps weeks before she can get to him!'' The cardinal argued.

''Morelli is well protected and he knows the value of the information he holds. He probably suspects that you might try something to save your position, which is exactly what you're doing.'' Lacroix sheathed his sword. ''Don't worry. He has apparently known your dirty little secrets for a while and he still hasn't ratted you out. We have time.''

The men stared at eachother, evil glittering in the Templar's blue eyes. Lefevre came up beside him and whispered something in his ear, Lacroix's eyes still watching the cardinal. The ex-Assassin left the room and the cardinal spoke, voice shaking:

''So this is your plan. And what is this thing you want from me?''

''Just a small thing, really.'' Lacroix answered. ''We will take that as payement for our services and since it doesn't even belong to you, this whole operation will actually not be costing you anything. It is however an item of great value, which lies inside one of the Vatican vaults. A tiny golden feather, a pagan artefact.''

_Maats Feather._

Altair did not catch the cardinal's answer. The barely perceivable sound behind him warned him too late. A heavily muscled arm lifted him up, locking itself around his waist and arms while a large paw pressed down over his mouth, painfully forcing his head back against the shoulder of the one who held him.


	7. Chapter 7

**''The judgement of Maat'' **Chapter 7

* * *

><p>Altair opened his eyes. His head hurt as if half a dozen hammers were hitting his skull at the same time and a voice sang in his ears:<p>

''Well, well. See who's awake!''

The Assassin found himself in the basement of the house by the Vatican, tied to the brick wall by long chains tightly shackled around his wrists. His white robes were still wet from the rain and dirtened by the thick layer of dust covering the floor. It took his eyes a while getting used to the strong light of the many torches at the walls. His detachable hood lay discarded on the floor at the leg og a wooden chair on which Frédérique Lacroix sat. Beside the Templar stood his mistress and Jaques Lefevre. Cold blue eyes observed the Assassin's face and the small smile stretching thin lips announced nothing good. The Arab brought himself to a seated position, back against the wall and asked calmly:

''What gave me away?''

''Nothing, actually.'' Lacroix answered, taking his mistress' hand in his. ''Jaques always had the habit of looking for spies even when there seemed to be none. You can never be too careful.''

''Is this the part where you torture me to find out how much I heard?''

Lacroix shifted in his seat.

''Wrong.''

''So you are just going to kill me.''

''Wrong again.'' The Frenchman's smile widened. ''I am going to trade you.''

Altair's eyes widened slightly. That was a new one. The Templar let go of his woman's hand, stood up and came to squat down in front of his prisoner.

''You see,'' he said, ''there are dozens of Assassins, of small, invaluable ones. I can tell the value of a man just by looking at him, and I can also tell that this bastard Mario Auditore can't afford to lose you. It would be catastrophic for the Assassins if you or his nefew got killed, for you two are the best he has. I am pretty certain he'll be willing to give up a certain silver scale for you.''

Altair snorted:

''The cardinal is already going to give you the Feather. Destroy that and you've got what you wanted. The Scale can't work on its own to prove Maats power.''

''Correct. But there is just one problem. The Feather has been in the Church's possession for over a century, and you have no idea how many times they tried to get rid of it. They tried to burn it, rip it to pieces... the damn thing just keeps coming back. It is indestructible and will always be...''

The Assassin felt like he had fallen into a lake of ice-cold water. He suddenly knew what Lacroix wanted.

''As long as Maat exists. You need both the Feather and the Scale to get to her. It's not enough for you that her powers can't be proven, you want her dead and every trace of her existence destroyed.''

The Frenchman's sinister laughter echoed off the walls.

''_Exactement! _Auditore really made one hell of a pair by teaming you up with Ezio.''

''How do you know that?''

Lacroix regained his seriousness, his features hardening again:

''I was the easiest thing in the world.'' He turned to his woman. ''If you please, _ma chère_.''

The mistress lifted her delicate hands to the black hood covering her face and pulled it off her head, freeing a cascade of voluminous golden hair. Marcia.

The Templar turned back to the Assassin:

''At first, the plan was that she would seduce Auditore's nefew and lead him to us so his uncle would give us the Scale. Unfortunately, he didn't swallow the bait as we thought and he did not accept the offer of spending the night with her. We couldn't get him but you will do just as well.''

The Arab scoffed:

''Somehow I doubt that Mario Auditore is going to let you blackmail him.''

''Of course he will, unless he is prepared for the loss of a good warrior and wants a sad nefew.''

''Ezio and I fight all the time. My death would mean little to him.''

''My, you are totally blind to that kind of thing, aren't you?'' Marcia chuckled, dark eyes fixed upon Altair, twirling a finger into her curls. ''The fights you have aren't exactly those of people who are indifferent to eachother. People who are indifferent do not care enough to even bother arguing, and Ezio is very fond of you. I spent an entire afternoon with him, I could tell.''

Lacroix clapped Altair's shoulder and stood up:

''Auditore _will_ trade you for the Scale, he has more to lose if he doesn't. And if I wasn't sure, you'd be dead already. Now if you excuse me, we have a cardinal to murder.''

He invited Marcia to take his arm and walked out of the basement with her. Their weight made the wooden staircase creak all the way up to the first floor, where the sound of their steps faded little by little as they continued their ascension to the higher levels. Lefevre closed the door and sat himself on the chair facing Altair, his large arms crossed over his broad chest, solitary green eye glittering in the light of the torches.

''With the guy posted right outside, you in here and me having a thundering headache, I'm not going anywhere. Care to uncuff me?'' The Arab asked.

The frown on Lefevre's already twisted face twisted his features even further.

''I kept you from breathing until you fainted,'' he answered, ''but I know not to underestimate men half my size, even with their senses blurred.''

''What's that? Are you scared?''

''Don't waste your time, you can never provoke me. Years in battle have taught me that if you let your emotions get the better of you, you're gambling with your life. I learned how to control them before they got me killed but I knew men who were not quite that lucky.''

''Back when you were an Assassin, right? So, how does it feel to be a traitor? There must be something to it since you took that road.''

''I never betrayed any of the Assassins' secrets or the locations of the headquarters and hideouts.'' Lefevre growled with his deep voice. ''I only changed sides.''

''Sure you did. And killed former allies.''

Lefevre did not answer, his eye locked onto the Arab whose grey gaze held his scornfully. The Templar stood up with a grunt, his massive form casting a giant shadow over the other man. He unbuckled and removed the large leather belt from over his uniform, a belt from which a set of keys hung. He trew it over the chair and went to sit down on the floor in front of Altair.

''So you want this to be personal,'' he said, ''fine. I'll answer your questions. But now the keys are out of your reach.''

''I don't understand your way of thinking. Did you really think that your survival was a sign?''

''The blow from the axe was impossible to survive and yet I did. God wanted me to live, there is no other explanation.''

''How about luck?''

''No one is that lucky. The Templars are much closer to God than the Assassins can ever hope to be, and I believe that He saved me so I could open my eyes and join their ranks. I found who to be loyal to, and I will do everything that is asked of me. _Everything_.''

''You obviously are more damaged than I thought.''

The enormous Frenchman shrugged:

''You can mock me as much as you want, I don't expect you to understand why I gave up my vices for Him. I gave them up all but one.''

The Assassin snorted, his face sarcastic, the Templar looking back at him impassively. Then the massive man leaned forward a little and lay his lips over his. Caught by the unexpected, Altair did not react at first. The Templar grabbed him by the arms and dragged him close, crushing his lips with his own mishapen ones. When he realized what was happening, the Assassin tried to push the other away, but the man's grip around his arms went from firm to painful.

''Don't struggle,'' Lefevre groaned against his mouth, ''I am not going to harm you.''

''This is not a very Knight of the Cross-like behavior.'' Altair mocked bitterly, trying to regain some of his dignity and balling his hands into fists against the Templar's chest.

''I know. But flawlessness is for saints, and the Knights are just men even if they'd like it to be otherwise.''

Lefevre kissed the Assassin again, holding him in place before slowly letting him go. The look on Altair's face was a combination of confusion and violent anger, and the Templar did not stay close long enough for Altair to take his anger out on him. Lefevre went back to the chair, picked up his belt and buckled it back around his waist.

The muffled sound of Lacroix's voice shouting an order reached their ears, and shortly after footsteps were heard coming down the stairs. The door opened and one of Lacroix's guards entered.

''He wants to see you,'' he said in a gruff voice, ''I'll watch the Assassin.''

The red-haired giant nodded without a word and walked out to see his superior, taking the keys to the shackles with him. When the sound of his steps reached the first floor the guard dropped his cape of coarse wool to his feet and hurried over to Altair, his face hidden under a white hood.

''Ezio,'' Altair whispered, ''what the hell are you doing here?''

''Helping you. Uncle Mario had me follow you in case something went wrong,'' the Italian answered with a grin, ''just like he had you follow me the day we met Marcia.''

''About Marcia, she's...''

''I know. Did they hurt you?''

''I'm fine.''

''_Bene._ Give me your hand, I'll see if I can pick the lock.''

Ezio took a long slim piece of metal with one twisted end out from his belt, took Altair's wrist and examined the handcuff. He grimaced, concern lighting up in his brown eyes.

''What's wrong?'' The tan Assassin asked, standing up.

''That lock is incredibly complicated... I've never seen one like this before. I can try to pick it but I won't be knowing what I'm doing. And the Templar will not be gone long enough.''

''Do it. We've got nothing to lose.''

Ezio ran his eyes along the chains holding his partner. They looked new and had no apparent weaknesses. His eyes continued their travel to the wall, where strong bolts were fastened. They looked older than the chains and Ezio let go of Altair's wrist, grabbed the chains with both hands and pulled violently. The bolts did not budge. Pushing his foot against the wall, he tried again, pulling with all his strength without result. The Assassins tried together, but even if the bolts were old they were solid and so was the wall.

''We are wasting our time.'' Ezio sighed, letting go of the chains.

He took Altair's wrist, inserted the twisted end of the metal piece in the lock of the handcuff again, trying to find how to trigger the opening mechanism. After a minute or two, a soft click came from the lock and Ezio put his face closer to it, worried.

''_Merda_... what the Devil is this?''

''What?'' Altair asked, anxious.

''It seems that these are designed to be very hard to open without the key.''

''I felt some pressure leaving just now.''

''Yes. Because what I did equals one turn of the key. Apparently, the key has to be turned about five times before the lock opens completely.''

''Are you joking? Who the hell invents things like that?''

''Stop moving, will you? Lefevre will be back soon!''

He roughly tugged Altair's arm closer and put the piece of metal back into the lock. The Italian had managed to unlock the equivalent of three more turns of the key to the first cuff when heavy footsteps were heard, quickly approaching the basement.

''_Merda_, he's coming back!'' Ezio hissed through clenched teeth.

He backed away from his partner and went to flatten himself against the wall by the door, in the blind spot of newcomers. He tensed the muscles in both forearms, as if to assure himself of the presence of the precious hidden blades at his wrists. He had sent Lefevre away because he knew his chances in a fight against the man were small, but with the Templar coming closer by the second and blocking their escape, he had no choice.


	8. Chapter 8

**''The Judgement of Maat'' **Chapter 8

* * *

><p>The door opened and the red-haired Templar came in, tilting his head forward to fit through the frame. He had barely closed the door before catching rapid movement by the corner of his eye and raised his left arm in protection. The slim blade at Ezio's wrist penetrated the flesh, slashing veins and muscle but missing its target. The young Italian stood frozen in surprise for a second, unable to believe that he had missed the man's heart. It was more than long enough for Lefevre to shake his arm free from the blade and grab him by the neck with his right hand. The giant lifted Ezio up from the ground, fingers digging into the sides of his throat as the Assassin's hands gripped around the large wrist.<p>

''So,'' the Frenchman said, studying his prey's face, ''this is Ezio Auditore. I would've thought that a man with your reputation had the guts to attack me head-on. Or at least was able to ambush somebody properly, but I must have been wrong.''

''Attack head-on?'' Ezio croaked. ''Do I look suicidal to you? Is attacking randomly how you got your face split? Not that there was so much to destroy to begin with, but _my_face, that's something else...''

''Enough.''

The grip around Ezio tightened, and although no sound escaped the Assassin's lips, his clenched jaw and eyes squeezed shut indicated the pain he was in. Altair had been watching with growing unease, and Lefevre's lonely eye was suddenly on him.

''Should I stop? Or should I just snap his neck?''

It was a rhetorical question, but it had the effect the Frenchman expected: Altair's eyes widened for the fraction of a second. Lefevre snorted and dropped Ezio who collapsed at his feet, panting for breath. The giant payed him no attention.

''Lacroix was right, you _do_ care about eachother. It makes me want to kill him in front of you even more.''

Altair tried to reach Ezio who lay on his side facing him, but the chains were too short.

''Stay where you are,'' the Templar told him, ''or you might provoke something you'll regret.''

Angered by his own powerlessness, Altair stepped back. The Italian was starting to regain his breath, and Lefevre squat down beside him, grabbed the front of his tunic and pulled him up into a seated position.

''_Dio mio,_'' Ezio mumbled, ''not only is your face hideous, your breath is also horrible...''

''Shut up.''

''Make me. Don't you have soap in France or do you just ignore its existence?''

''Will you shut up!''

In response, Ezio headbutted the other in the face. The giant was thrown off balance and his nose bled abundantly, but his senses were not clouded for long. The back of his hand slammed against the Assassin's jaw, knocking the young man back to the floor, his head colliding painfully with the grey pavement.

''Ezio!''

The chains yanked Altair back, preventing him from running to his partner. The Templar stood up, blood from his broken nose running down his face to his chest and staining his uniform.

''He is unconscious.'' He said.

''Get away from him.''

''Or what? You are chained and we only need one of you to force Mario Auditore to give us the Scale. If Ezio dies and we break you, the Assassin threat will be over, just like we want it to be.''

''Auditore will get new Assassins.''

''Is that what you think?''

The Templar's eye left Ezio to look at Altair, whose wrists were beginning to bruise from struggling against the shackles.

''I don't think so. You see, everytime he'll train new Assassins, it will remind him of his nefew, who got killed in a mission to which _he_ sendt him. Ezio might have accepted the risks and Auditore may be a strong man, but no one ever forgives themselves for sending one of their last family members to their death.''

The Templar sat himself on the chair and crossed his arms over his broad chest without even trying to stop the blood running from his nose.

* * *

><p>The blow to Ezio's head had obviously been strong, for he remained immobile, lying on the cold floor for a long time, which seemed like an eternity to Altair. A small whimper finally escaped Ezio's mouth and his hand twitched. He did not move more than that for a while, but it had not escaped his partner's attention. Relieved that the Italian at least was alive, Altair allowed himself to relax a little. After five more minutes Ezio moved again, slowly bringing a hand to his wounded skull. As his fingers touched the bloody cut on his scalp, he grimaced and moved his legs.<p>

''_Merda_, that hurts.'' He growled.

''So, awake are we?'' The Templar asked. ''It took you long enough.''

Ezio turned his head to the side without answering him, rather wanting to see his partner's face than his enemy's scarred one. The Italian's gaze met the Arab's, went to the handcuffs at Altair's wrists and back to his grey eyes, questioning him silently. The grey eyes followed and met Ezio's brown ones again, answering a silent '_no_'. The Templar, seated against the wall behind Ezio, did not remark this wordless conversation. The Italian pushed his hands to the floor in an attempt to hoist himself up but his arms felt weak and he fell back down, entirely out of strength.

* * *

><p>Leaving his men in the corridor with Lacroix's, the cardinal Balducci opened the door to the room on the third floor, where the Knight of the Cross waited for him.<p>

''Do you have it?'' Lacroix asked, turning to him.

The cardinal nodded nervously. He would now be giving the Templar the thing he wanted the most, which also meant Lacroix would not need him anymore and could break his part of the deal without consequences. Balducci had not been in position to demand the services of the Templar before bringing the payement, and this payement had to be brought to Lacroix by him only, as if he was a simple errand boy who had to be humiliated even further. In principle, the Templar's honor forbade him to go back on his word, but after being shown how little Lacroix thought of him, Balducci could not shake off the feeling that he may be betrayed anytime.

He carefully took a small, carved box of oak out from the cape he wore over his scarlet cassock and held it out for the Frenchman to take. Frédérique Lacroix's hand closed around the box that was only slightly larger than his palm. He held it up at the level of his face, cold eyes running over every inch of it. It seemed to be a compact cube of decorated wood, but it was too light to be solid. A small grin stretched the Templar's thin, colourless lips.

''A hidden lid. I like that.'' He said more to himself than to the cardinal.

He turned the box over several times, trying to find the hidden mechanism that would open the lid and reveal the content, blue gaze analyzing every sculpture. A patient man, Lacroix examined all the sides of the box before finally finding what he was looking for. The sculptures represented the most important Egyptian deities, and among them, although smaller than the likes of Ra, Osiris, Horus, Hathor and Isis, was Maat. The carving of the feather in her headpiece was a minuscule detail, but it clicked softly as the nail of the Templar's thumb applied pressure to it. The top of the box unlocked itself and the Frenchman removed it. Inside the box, wrapped in a piece of violet fabric was the Feather of Maat, untouched by time and glowing in all its golden beauty.

He put the lid back, walked past the cardinal and out of the room. He was about to go down the stairs with his men when Balducci caught up with him.

''Where are you going?''

''I am satisfied with the artefact,'' Lacroix answered without stopping, ''and I will keep my word. You should go home, lay low and let me handle the rest. The last thing you need now is to arise suspicion.''

All fear of betrayal inside the cardinal was put to rest. He was pleased. Actually, he could not get home fast enough and disappeared as quickly as he could. While he and his men reached their carriage out in the street, Lacroix continued descending the stairs all the way to the cave. He stepped into the prison, his escort remaining by the door. When his superior arrived Lefevre stood up. Lacroix let his narrow eyes wander to Altair, who sat back against the wall, then to Ezio, who was awake but still lay on the floor, looking rather weak. Lacroix gestured for Lefevre to come closer and the giant obeyed, bringing the weapons he had removed from Ezio. Taking said weapons, Lacroix spoke:

''I'm heading out. We have the Feather and everything is ready to be set in motion. I'll come back to get Marcia later. Meanwhile, you watch those two, _compris_? And chain Auditore, will you?''

He left, taking Ezio's weapons with him. Lefevre picked up two chains bolted to the wall facing Altair. The ends bore shackles similar to the ones around the Arab's wrists and he ordered:

''Get up, Assassin.''

Ezio rolled over to his side to face his partner and asked:

''Is he always this bossy?''

''Stop joking around and get on your feet.''

''Why should I? Why go through the trouble of getting up when I can just wait for you to come over here and get me? Which is what you're going to do if you absolutely want to chain me...''

Annoyed, the Templar threw down the chains and was by the Assassin in three strides. He grabbed a fistful of the Italian's long hair and violently pulled his head back.

''So you want this done the hard way. Fine.''

''You, sir, are a dirty, dirty person.'' Ezio mocked.

Without warning, the young man brutally kicked his heel into the Templar's knee. The giant fell on the floor and yelled loudly, flinging Ezio back into the floor. Pain shot up the Assassin's spine but it was nothing compared to the pain his enemy felt. Lefevre's large hands were clasped around his cracked kneecap and his scarred lips were stretched into an ugly grimace that uncovered his teeth.

''You little bastard! I will kill you for this!'' He snarled, jaw clenched in rage.

He managed to straigthen himself up by putting his weight over to his good leg, but before he could get any closer to Ezio something cold caught his throat from behind, blocking the stream of air to his lungs. Altair had thrown one of his chains around the Templar's thick neck and pulled it towards himself, choking and destabilizing the man. Lefevre was insanely strong, a lot stronger than the Assassins. Had he not been wounded. His hands clawed after the chain that deprieved him of air but Altair kicked the back of his injured joint, forcing him to his knees. His head was now at the level of Altair's chest and the stab from Ezio's blade had crippled his left arm.

The Arab brought his knee up between the Templar's shoulder blades and pushed while continuing to pull the chain. The muscles of the Assassin's arms screamed in pain from the effort but he could feel the other man's strength leave and continued putting pressure on his spine until he heard it snap.

Finally, the large body went lifeless and Altair let it sink down to the floor. A little out of breath, he offered Ezio his hand, which the Italian took, and pulled him up. Looking at Lefevre's corpse, Ezio patted Altair's back:

''Nice work, _amico_.''

''Nice work yourself. Bringing him within range and making him lower his guard by playing weak and annoying... you really are talented at irritating people. _I _didn't manage to anger him.''

''Somehow I doubt that was a compliment.'' Ezio pouted.


	9. Chapter 9

**'The Judgement of Maat' chapter 9**  
>is here! In this chapter, our two assassins get in<br>even more trouble! (muahahaaaa!)  
>I hope it's enjoyable and that you will review :D<p>

* * *

><p>Ezio fished the needle-like piece of metal from a pocket on the inside of his tunic and took his partner's arm. He inserted the crooked end of the tool into the lock he had been working on earlier and soon, the lock clicked and opened, freeing Altair from a pressure that had become painful long ago. His wrist was reddened and bruised from his struggle against the chains.<br>''You put up quite a fight, huh?'' Ezio said, throwing the chain to the floor where it rattled loudly. ''I knew you adored me too much to just sit and watch the Templar slap me around.''  
>''Yeah, because you're so irresistible.'' Altair answered flatly. ''Rid me of the other so we can get out of here.''<p>

The Arab clearly had enough of this place for the rest of his life and was not in the mood for the Italian's unstoppable cheerfulness. Ezio sighed, took the other's second hand and began the complicated unlocking of the cuff. A few minutes later he was almost there, but then gave Altair the metal tool:  
>''Finish up yourself while I take care of this guy.''<p>

Altair resumed the work and Ezio squat down by the giant corpse of Jaques Lefevre, flipped him over to his back and closed the man's eyes. The Italian's lips murmured '_Resquiescat in pace_' before asking louder:  
>''Altair, when heading back to the headquarters, do we walk the streets like normal people or do we take the assassin route over the rooftops?''<p>

Altair snorted:  
>''I think you know the answer to that.''<br>''I just wanted to make sure you take the exact same way as I, _amico mio_. Or else it would be cheating.'' The youngest grinned, standing up. ''Last man arrived is a temple maid!''  
>''So your idea of something offensive is actually someone pure... Hey!''<p>

Ezio was already running out the door laughing, enjoying his own cleverness.  
>''You better hurry up, temple maid!'' He shouted, running up the stairs.<p>

The assassin's light steps faded quickly and Altair was left with his hand still cuffed. In a minute he would be free, and shook his wrist in irritation:  
>''I swear, sometimes I don't get him at all... I'll give him cheating...''<p>

* * *

><p>''If it isn't our little assassin. How sweet!'' Ezio heard a familiar voice say just as he reached the first floor.<p>

In the middle of the second staircase leading further up stood Marcia, hand on her hip. An ironic smile stretched her full lips and her dark eyes glittered in the flame of the candle she held.  
>''Where do you think you're going?'' she asked.<br>''Out,'' Ezio replied, on his guard but keeping up his own smile, ''at least, that was the plan until you showed up, _cara._ I'm sure you realize that I can't let you run to your lover and tell him we escaped.''  
>''Oh, I know that perfectly'' the woman answered, palying with her rich golden locks, ''but that implies that you have to catch me, <em>bello.<em>''

She turned around to run up the stairs in small, rapid steps, her free hand lifting her skirt out of the way. The light of the candle faded when she reached the second floor, a large, empty area that had been used as storage space. Her strident laughter rang in Ezio's ears. He ran after her, expecting her to be halfway to the last floor already, but as he reached the storage area he saw her, standing with her back to him.  
>''Well? I thought you were going to make the chase more difficult than that.''<br>''You haven't got me yet, assassin.'' she smiled over her shoulder.

She spun around to face him, and Ezio felt his abdomen sting in sharp pain. Five slender, short arrows stood out from his body, piercing the white clothes the blood was starting to redden. Marcia lowered her arm, to which a complicated mechanism was strapped, previously hidden by the wide sleeves of her dress. On top of her wrist was a weapon that looked like a small crossbow, which apparently was capable of shooting several projectiles in one single shot.  
>''<em>I <em>got _you_, _assassino_.''  
>''Are you joking?'' Ezio laughed, tightening his fist around the arrows and ripping them out all at once. ''As if a handful of toothpicks were going to put me down.''<p>

Marcia's dark eyes watched him as his legs collapsed under him without warning. He fell to his knees and his body suddenly felt red-hot, the sensation floating from the wounds and slowly spreading to his limbs, all the way to the tip of his fingers and toes.  
>''The arrows, no. The poison, yes.'' she answered.<p>

Very faint steps were heard coming up the stairs carefully, and the ring of a long sword being unsheathed reached their ears.  
>''Here comes your friend.'' Marcia said, lifting her arm again.<br>''Altair! Watch out for the arrows!''

Ezio's throat felt dry and raspy like sand, and he was amazed that his voice did not break and sounded this steady. Just as the Arab appeared at the top of the stairs the mechanism of the crossbow clicked, sending a set of arrows in the assassin's direction. He swung the broadsword he had taken from Lefevre's corpse, knocking the poisonous projectiles out of the air. The woman shot again, but the assassin's reflexes were too quick and he managed to dodge the arrows. His grey eyes scanned the room: in the middle stood Marcia, not far from a square hole in the floor through which hung several ropes fastened to the ceiling and running through pulleys. They were remnants of the time when the floor was used to store goods. In front of her was Ezio, his breathing heavier than usual.

Lacroix's blonde mistress was looking directly at Altair, eyes widened by surprise. Rarely before had her poisonous projectiles missed their mark, much less twice. Her free hand went under her sleeve to retrieve more hidden arrows and load them into the crossbow, but Altair took a few steps forward, menacingly pointing the tip of the heavy sword at her:  
>''Lay one finger on those and I will lop your head off before you've reloaded.'' He threatened.<p>

The woman dropped her hand again.  
>''Very well.''<p>

She suddenly reached out, grabbed Ezio's chin from behind and tipped his head backwards.  
>''You are fast, assassin'' she scoffed, ''but I have a dagger in my belt. Are you fast enough to stop me before I slit his throat?''<br>''There's only one way to find out.'' Altair shrugged.

He barely had started moving again when Marcia's hand seized the handle of the dagger, yanked the weapon out from her belt and pushed the short blade against Ezio's throat.  
>''Stay right where you are, <em>bastardo<em>!''

The Arab stopped walking.  
>''Drop the sword!''<br>''Don't.'' Ezio croaked. ''If you do you'll be unarmed and there is no garantee that she still won't kill me anyway.''  
>''Like I need a sword to waste the bitch.'' Altair spat at him with a steely gaze.<br>''I said drop it! Or else you can be sure I _will_ kill him! Gamble with me and you'll be sorry!''

Altair's eyes focused on the noisy woman again. He sighed and dropped the sword to the floor.  
>''Now step away from it.''<p>

He did as she ordered and went all the way to the wall to his left and leaned against it, arms crossed over his chest.  
>''Good. Now we will all wait for Frédérique to return.''<br>''I'm bored already,'' Ezio groaned, ''and my neck hurts.''  
>''Be patient, <em>amore<em>.''

She bowed her head, so that her face hovered above his. Little by little, the hand on his jaw released its grip to slowly stroke down his throat, the thumb caressing his exposed skin in small circles. The thumb of the hand holding the dagger did the same, although the pressure of the blade remained. The assassin pouted:  
>''Frédérique wouldn't be too happy if he saw you right now.''<br>''_If_. He doesn't.'' she replied, nuzzling her nose to his, eyes almost shut.

Her hand continued trailing down to his collarbone, where it stopped for a moment. Altair watched the two others in confusion. What the hell were they doing? They were enemies and she held a dagger to his throat, constantly reminding him of how easily she could just end his life if it pleased her to do so. Apparently, that was no problem for them. They even seemed to find it arousing.

_Italians._

He was wondering if they had forgotten his presence or simply did not care if they did this in front of him when he heard Ezio's amused voice say:  
>''I can feel Altair's growing unease all the way here.''<br>''Really?'' Marcia answered in the same tone. ''He doesn't enjoy watching?''  
>''I think he hates it.''<br>''Jealousy?''  
>''I wish. But he doesn't care enough to get jealous.''<p>

Altair snorted and groaned from behind clenched teeth:  
>''Damn right I don't care.''<br>''I could order him to come here, you know.'' Marcia whispered, ignoring the Arab and playing with the dagger, twisting the blade on Ezio's skin.  
>''Just let him be, <em>bella<em>. Where he comes from, they're too stuck up to play with two people at once.''

Marcia's lips remained suspended just above the assassin's while her eyes looked Altair up and down hungrily.  
>''Mm. A pity.''<p>

Her hand left Ezio's collarbone and slid down to his chest, fingers caressing the skin just under the line of his shirt. Her gaze left the Arab to concentrate on her prisoner again while her hand slid under the white fabric to rest over his heart.  
>''Looks like we will have to be content with eachother then.''<p>

She pushed Ezio to the side so he fell on his rear. He snapped his breath and grimaced in pain as the movement of his muscles made the wounds sting and accelerated the spreading of the poison in his veins. Marcia sat herself in his lap, the hand holding the dagger finding his throat again and the other pulling down his hood and finding his long hair. She pushed her lips to the assassin's in a wild and needy kiss, which he answered immediately. The sound of their accelerated breathing and moans of pleasure filled the room as they both fought for dominance in the kiss. None succeeded but the fiery contest was not put to rest. Her hand in his hair tugged at the black ribbon until it freed his long mane and Ezio brought his knee up, pushing her tighter up against him.

Their mouths separated and the assassin grabbed hold around her arms, holding her as he began nuzzling her neck. She closed her eyes and arched her back, hands letting go of what they held to grip his shoulders instead, a loud moan escaping her parted lips as he kissed the top of her breasts and her cleavage.

The dagger clattered on the floor, completely forgotten by its owner. Ezio suddenly pulled Marcia away from him, his nose only inches from hers and a sarcastic smile on his lips.  
>''Horny <em>idiota<em>. When you threaten to kill somebody, never let go of what puts you in power.''

He pushed her violently, brutally enough to bring her to her feet. Out of balance, she stumbled several steps backwards, arms waving in all directions. Helpless, she reached the square hole with the ropes and pulleys, balancing on the edge for a second before falling screaming to her death, her encounter with the floor below cutting her agony short.

Ezio fell back entirely, the push having drained the last of his strength. He could feel that it wouldn't be long before he passed out. Altair came up to him, squat down and put his hand on the Italian's forehead, brushing away the long bangs the sweat stuck to it.  
>''You're burning up.''<br>''Tell me something I don't know,'' Ezio groaned weakly, a shiver running down his spine as his partner's cold fingers made contact with his heated skin, ''those arrows were poisoned.''

The Arab helped him up, threw Ezio's arm behind his neck and kept him standing by holding his waist.  
>''I'll take you to the headquarters.''<br>''No... don't, they are too far away. Leonardo's in town, he's a friend of mine... his place is just a couple of streets away... take me to him.''

* * *

><p>Altair's fist thundered against the wooden door three times. It was late and most households were fast asleep, but the lights still burned at Leonardo's atelier. After short time the door opened and the artist appeared, his blonde hair a mess and his clothes wrinkled. His blue eyes tried to perceive Altair's face under his hood, but despite the familiar clothes, he did not recognize this man. The other man, who hung at the Arab's shoulder was something else.<br>''Ezio!'' shouted Leonardo. ''_Dio mio_, what happened to him?''  
>''He was hit with poisoned arrows,'' Altair explained, ''he asked me to bring him here.''<br>''That was probably the best thing to do.'' Answered the artist, stepping out of the way so the assassin could bring his wounded partner in.

He helped him lay Ezio out on a bed and brought in several bottles of different coulours and sizes, along with dried plants which strong smell was highly uncomfortable. He led Altair out of the room, a smile he hoped was reassuring on his lips:  
>''Don't worry. He is in good hands.''<p>

He closed the door to examine his friend, leaving Altair in the hallway.

* * *

><p><strong>Italianlatin words:**  
><em>Requiescat in pace<em> - rest in peace  
><em>Amico mio<em> - my friend  
><em>Cara<em> - my dear (to a woman)  
><em>Bello<em> - beautiful (to a man)  
><em>Assassino<em> - assassin  
><em>Bastardo<em> - bastard  
><em>Amore<em> - love  
><em>Bella <em>- beautiful (to a woman)  
><em>Dio mio<em> - my God

**Don't forget to review, and stay on a sharp lookout for the next chapter!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10 of 'The judgement of Maat'!  
><strong>Someone was asking when the romantic stuff was coming up,  
>and I realized I had postponed it enough. So enjoy, and remember to comment and review! :D<p>

* * *

><p>''Leo, is that you?'' Ezio mumbled, looking at the figure sitting beside him on the edge of the bed from under half-closed eyelids.<br>''_Bene_! You're awake.''

A large smile appeared on the artist's face. In his lap was a large wooden bowl, in which he was mixing some herbs and water to an unappetizing brownish soup.  
>''I really hope that this is going on my wounds.'' The assassin said, eyeing the mixture in disapproval.<br>''Sorry Ezio.''  
>''Lucky me.''<p>

Helping his friend up a bit, Leonardo brought the bowl to the assassin's lips. Ezio swallowed the medicine with a grimace and grunted:  
>''<em>Merda<em>... Chewing my own socks would taste better.''

Leonardo grinned wider. The fact that his friend had not been out for long was reassuring. He reached out to take a new bowl and a couple of bottles from the bedside table and began to prepare another medicine that would heal Ezio's wounds while avoiding an infection. He helped the assassin taking off the ridiculously long red sash around his waist, then helped him ridding himself of the many layers of shirt, the hood and the cape. Ezio lay still as his friend wiped away the blood and cleaned the wounds from the arrows with a wet cloth, but winced in pain when Leo put on the medicine. The tension of his muscles caused the wounds to bleed again.  
>''Try to stay still.'' The artist said, wiping off the blood.<p>

Digging his fingers into the mattress and holding his breath, Ezio managed not to budge while Leonardo tended to him. He was thankful when the artist finished bandaging his abdomen and allowed himself to relax only then. The blonde man stood up and spread a thin but warm blanket over his friend and straightened up the pillow.  
>''You're so good to me, Leo. <em>Grazie<em>.''  
>''Don't mention it. We are friends, and friends take care of eachother.''<p>

The artist patted the assassin's shoulder before leaving to let him rest.

In a corner of the hallway he found Altair, who had slept off on the floor, face to the wall. The Arab had taken off the few weapons the Templars had not confiscated, and he had rolled his long, sleeveless robes and hood into a ball he now used to rest his head on. He seemed to be just as much in need of sleep as Ezio, and Leonardo stood beside him, wondering if he should wake him or not. He felt cruel to even consider it but he did not have much of a choice: the deadline for one of his paintings was coming up and Ezio needed to be watched.

While he made up his mind, he looked at the sleeping man. Leonardo had always thought that Ezio's exeptional good looks were unique, unmatched even by the effeminated beauty of the artist's assistants, but the italian assassin seemed to have met a worthy opponent this time. Although they were different in so many ways, both assassins had fine but manly features, and it was difficult to prefer one or the other, Ezio with his long, dark brown hair, fair skin and warm, brown eyes or Altair with his short, lighter hair, tan skin and cold, grey eyes. The only impefection Leonardo could see was the scars they both had on the same side of the mouth.

Altair shifted in his sleep to lay on his back. An assassin's sleep was never deep and he opened his eyes slightly:  
>''Leonardo.. how is Ezio?''<p>

Still in his own thoughts, the artist did not answer immediately.

* * *

><p>Frédérique Lacroix brought his horse to a halt and jumped down from the saddle, his boots landing heavily in a puddle and splashing mud everywhere. A gloved hand on the handle of his broadsword, he took a few steps on the road, holding his horse by the reins. The house by the Vatican seemed empty, which was strange. He had expected to see the flames of a few candles through the many windows. Two other Templars rode up beside him, also watching the house, in search for what seemed to trouble their boss. Brow furrowed, the Knight of the Cross gave the reins to the one on his left and pushed open the front door. As expected, the house was plunged in absolute darkness. Lacroix held out his hand in a silent order for the second rider to give him the torch he carried.<p>

The floorboards creaked under the Knight's weight as he came in, followed by one of his men while the other stayed in the street to watch the horses. His heart skipped a beat as the light from the torch hit a shape lying on the floor a few strides in front of him.  
>''Wait for me outside.'' He ordered.<p>

The Templar craned his neck in an attempt to see what Lacroix's cape-clad form hid from his view, asking:  
>''Are you sure?''<br>''Do as I say.''

The man obeyed and the Frenchman waited until he had vanished out the door before crouching by his mistress' twisted body. She was on her stomach, face down, the beautiful blonde hair fanned out. Hand shaking, Lacroix touched her shoulder, unsure if he should allow the sight of her pale, lifeless face replace the memories of how beautiful she had been. Nevertheless, he rolled her over. The _rigor mortis_ had already kicked in and her skin was white, dark, matt eyes staring emptily at the ceiling. The blood from her broken nose and cracked lip had coagulated, but the fatal wound to her head was still bleeding, soiling the golden hair.

At first, the Frenchman fought back the tears that threatened to well up in his eyes, but what he saw next did it for him. The string closing the decolletage of her blue dress was undone, uncovering a dangerously low-cut petticoat and showing a much larger portion of her breasts than what was considered decent. Her skin bore the marks of kisses and teasing bites, and at the sight of those, the Knight's gaze and features suddenly hardened.

He stood up from the body, looking down at it in scorn. Lacroix was a proud man, too proud to let himself be mocked, no matter who it was. He may have loved the woman at his feet, but from the second he saw the signs of her unfaithfulness he felt nothing but disgust for her. The assassins had never bothered with any kind of peace ritual and had not closed her eyes, and neither did he as he simply stepped over her, the brushing of his cape being the only caress he had left for her.

He descended the stairs to the cave, where the multiple torches at the walls still burned. Again his heart skipped a beat, although this time, he had been expecting the sight that met him. In silence, he calmly kneeled by the corpse of Jaques Lefevre and joined his hands on top of the Templar's chest. Finding some consolation in the fact that the assassins had closed the red-haired giant's eyes, Lacroix bowed his head in a last payement of respect for his fallen friend and brother-in-arms.

* * *

><p>Altair came into the room where Ezio rested, closed the door silently, threw his robes, hood and weapons in a corner and sat himself on a chair by the bed to watch over his partner. From what he could tell, whatever it was Leonardo had given Ezio seemed to work. His breath was now peaceful and steady and he sweated a lot less. He slept out of exhaustion, not because the poison was killing him. The hours passed and Leonardo came by from time to time to clean Ezio's wounds, and the assassin slept through everything. It was close to sunset when he woke up all by himself, looking weak but stable. He cracked a smile at Altair:<br>''You are watching over little old me. How cute.''  
>''Someone had to.''<br>''Just because you had to? That's cold.''

Altair shrugged.  
>''I've been wanting to ask you something, you know.'' The Italian said, changing the subject. ''What do you remember about the life you had before Maat sent you here?<p>

The Arab crossed his arms over his chest. He had never thought about his life between the moment when Maat took his soul and the moment she had brought him back to his youth to offer him a second chance. Now that he thought about it, he realized that the few memories she had allowed him to keep were distant and seemed unimportant, as if he had not been the one living them but rather had seen someone else do it. He felt no emotional attachment, even less now than when his life had been on the right track.  
>''Very little.'' He answered. ''And it does not even feel like what I remember are memories. They are just images in my head and I do not feel bound to them.''<br>''But you had children. And how about their mother? You must have loved them, _no_?''  
>''If I ever did. I can't recall.''<p>

Ezio narrowed his eyes.  
>''What exactly happened with Maat, Altair?''<br>''Meeting her is the only thing I remember clearly. The first time, she weighed my soul and saw what I was. She took it and told me I would have to earn it back.''

Ezio snorted.  
>''That seems a bit dramatic.''<br>''You don't know what this means, do you?'' Altair asked in a suddenly cold voice. ''Taking my soul away means that I will not die before she decides to give it back. No matter how many times I live, she is going to make me live again and again until I learn the lesson she tries to teach.''  
>''Well, she wants you to become a better person.'' Ezio shrugged. ''From where I stand, it's not a bad thing.''<br>''Of course not, I just hate having to live my life over again.''  
>''But you said that the memories you have feel unpersonal.''<p>

Altair was losing his patience.  
>''You really don't get it. Believe me when I say that not being in control of your own fate because a goddess has it all decided for you is unpleasant, even if she erases your weariness and makes you young again.''<br>''You better do as she says, then.'' Ezio grinned. ''Let me help you. Come here.''  
>''What for?''<br>''I need to sit up a bit, but the headboard is too hard.''  
>''Really? How <em>are<em> you going to survive? Put the pillow behind your back.''

Ezio pouted.  
>''I don't care much for the pillow. Come here.''<br>''Maat did not want me to care more about others by becoming your headrest.''  
>''No, but I am pretty sure that caring about a wounded partner was something she had in mind.''<p>

The Arab sighed in annoyance and stood up.  
>''Fine, just shut up.''<br>''Splendid.'' Ezio grinned, making room for him.

Altair sat himself diagonally on the mattress, back against the headboard, feet out of the bed.  
>''Take off your boots and sit correctly.'' Ezio protested.<br>''I'm not staying for long.''  
>''Someone doesn't want their soul back!''<br>''Shut up, will you?''

Giving up making the other take his boots off and sit straight, Ezio sat himself up too, back against the Arab's chest and resting his head on his shoulder. Soon after he dozed off, the warmth of their bodies and that of the blanket he had dragged all the way up under his chin plunging him into sleep. During the time he rested, Altair tried to move as little as possible to avoid waking him. But after a while, the weight of the muscular Italian was pressing him flat against the headboard, making his back uncomfortably numb. He shifted when the pressure of the wood into his shoulder blades became hurtful, unvoluntarily tearing the other assassin out of his sleep in the process.

Ezio groaned lazily and turned around so that their bodies faced eachother, head still resting on the Arab's shoulder and passed his right arm around Altair's waist. Altair sank harder against the wooden panel, as if he was trying to put some distance between himself and Ezio. The latter chuckled:  
>''Am I making you uneasy?''<p>

A snort was the only answer he got. The Italian grinned softly and brought his face against the side of the other's neck, so that the bridge of his nose came up under the Arab's jaw and ran his hand up and down his back, the tips of his fingers digging into the thin fabric of the other's tunic. Altair's jaw tightened and Ezio asked again:  
>''Answer me. Am I making you uneasy?''<br>''That goes without saying.''  
>''And it scares you.''<p>

The Italian began nuzzling his partner's neck while bringing his left hand up his arm, feeling the muscles tense under his fingers.  
>''Are you afraid you are going to like what I do to you?''<br>''What the hell is there to like? You are a man.''  
>''I don't think it really matters, as long as I know how to touch you.''<br>''You don't.''  
>''Not yet. But I am very good at guessing.''<p>

His arm around Altair's waist suddenly pulled the other closer, causing Altair to slam his hands flat against Ezio's chest to keep some distance between them. The Italian took his wrists and dragged his hands away before sinking his face to the Arab's throat. The skin was warm under his lips when he started to kiss it and Altair tried to shake his wrists out of the Italian's firm grip but in vain, his movement making the loose collar of his tunic slide to the edge of his shoulder. He squeezed his eyes shut and snapped his breath when Ezio's teeth scraped the sensitive skin just above his collarbone.  
>''What the hell do you think you're doing?'' He hissed as the other slid his tongue all the way up his throat.<br>''Oh, I just owe you for pushing me and the chair.''  
>''Let go of me.''<br>''That depends.''  
>''On what?''<p>

Ezio left Altair's skin to look at his face, which bore signs of pure, controlled, cold rage. The younger assassin grinned:  
>''It depends on how compliant you are.''<p>

He brought his lips to his partner's, but before they touched, Altair mumbled:  
>''I should just hit your wounds.''<br>''Unfortunately, you can't. And it would not earn you your soul back any faster, _amico mio_.''

He let his mouth ghost over the other man's before leaning forward and taking his lips with his own.  
>''None of this gets me my soul back.'' Altair managed to grumble between kisses.<br>''No, but it will make me let go of you.''

Ezio started by kissing him slowly, and little by little Altair began to answer, his lips going from unresponsive to firm against the other's. He gasped when the Italian picked up the pace and let go of his wrists to pass his arms under his and behind his back, pushing him hard against the headboard and taking advantage of his surprise to deepen the kisses. Feeling stupid for having nothing to do of his hands, he simply put them on Ezio's arms. The younger assassin groaned at his touch and continued moving his lips over his hungrily. Even though Altair played along he was still reluctant, Ezio both felt and tasted it. But it did not matter.

Doing this with his partner was something entirely different than doing it with any woman he had ever held, Christina included. Knowing that the one he kissed was just as powerful as him in any way and only let himself being dominated because Ezio had been lucky enough to take him by surprise, created a feeling that could not be compared to when he could dominate the person in his arms whenever he wanted. Altair was like an animal that could tear Ezio's throat out if he got the chance, and playing a game that could go so wrong made everything else seem boring. The feeling of lips that were stronger and rougher than usual against his own was strangely arousing, and the assassin found himself taking pleasure in this. Altair's scent was also completely different. There was no sweet perfume to sicken the Italian, just the scent of his skin and those of leather and metal, the scent of an assassin.

Altair pulled away slightly, bringing Ezio back to earth and said, out of breath:  
>''Time to let go.''<br>''You did not touch me much.''  
>''Don't push your luck.''<p>

The Arab's face was serious and Ezio decided that it probably was the best idea, not to push his luck indeed. He let go of his partner, not without sliding his hands down his back a little slower than necessary.

* * *

><p><strong>Italian and latin words:<strong>  
><em>Bene<em> - good  
><em>Merda<em> - shit  
><em>Grazie<em> - thanks  
><em>Rigor mortis<em> - stiffness of death  
><em>Amico mio<em> - my friend


	11. Chapter 11

**'The judgement of Maat' Chapter 11**  
>Sorry for taking so long before uploading, folks, but I have an avalanche of<br>exams coming up and I have to concentrate about them.  
>I will still go on writing, though.<br>I got a message from someone wanting the setup to be different, but since I got no precisions,  
>I had to guess what was meant. Please tell me if this is worse and you want it changed back! O.o<br>Don't forget to review! :D

* * *

><p>''Do not disturb me under any circumstance whatsoever!'' The cardinal Balducci ordered before slamming shut the heavy door to his office.<p>

He faced the luxuriously decorated room and felt the harsh, warm wind of the stormful late-summer evening hit him.

''What the...?''

The large window was wide open, a strong air current blowing the long curtains of thick velvet inwards and making the flames of the last oil lamps flicker almost to the point of extinction. The papers from the extravagant wooden desk were scattered everywhere in the spacious room and the man of the Church felt a shiver run through his body. He could not recall leaving the window open. As he went to close it his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, and he was suddenly aware of the shape of a man standing in front of him, previously hidden by the flowing curtains. Balducci was unable to restrain a gasp when he realized that he was not alone and the other chuckled softly:

''Good evening, cardinal.''

The man's boots against the floor made the regular sounds of a steady, calm walk as he stepped into the weak light of the lamps, towards the cardinal who walked backwards as he approached.

Lacroix.

Balducci relaxed and his fright turned into indignation.

''I am glad for your presence.'' He said, crossing his arms over his chest, large, precious rings glittering. ''Would you be so kind and explain to me what in the world is happening? I wanted a man killed, you accepted the task and even received payement. You promised that he would be gone by now, which he isn't.''

''The Assassins happened.'' Lacroix answered like it was the simplest thing in the world, leaning against the edge of the heavy desk, a calm smile on his thin, colourless lips. ''The woman and one of my men are dead.''

Balducci let his arms fall and busied himself with lighting the lamps that had gone out.

''Look, I am sorry for your loss, but you were payed to do a job and I must remind you that time is of the essence...

''I realize that.''

''Good. Then what are you waiting for?''

''Excuse me?''

''You yourself are still here. _You_ can kill Morelli.''

Lacroix's smile became a grin.

''It doesn't work that way, cardinal. I orchestrate murders, I have not been carrying them out myself for many years.''

''Your reputation as a skilled killer still remains.''

''So it would seem.''

The cardinal and the Knight were silent for a moment, until Lacroix spoke again:

''Actually, I came to tell you that our deal is off.''

Balducci spun around, his plump face almost as scarlet as his cassock.

''What! _You_ were the one who told me what would happen if I tried to sneak out of the deal! You were paid! You agreed!''

''I am sorry.''

''You're sorry? Rubbish! Why this all of the sudden?''

''I believe I simply got bored.'' The Knight shrugged.

''Bored?''

''Yes. Of serving greedy old men in their struggle for power. I have better things to do.''

Incredule, the cardinal listened to the Frenchman continue:

''I never liked the Assassins, which speaks for itself as I am a Templar. But never did two of them become such thorns in my side as Auditore's nefew and his friend. So let me put it like this: my own purpose has become more important than yours.''

The cardinal's wide eyes watched the Templar, whose nonchalance was very unusual. Something was wrong.

''Where are your men?'' He asked, feeling a certain anxiousness starting to take over.

''I sent them back to France. They are still young and the path that I will be walking is nothing for them.''

''My God. You plan on taking on these assassins alone.''

The Frenchman did not answer, he simply looked at the other man, his blue eyes just as calm as the rest of him.

''Do you really think that you can take on two men specially trained for the purpose of killing all by yourself?''

''Let's put my reputation to the test.''

''You will die!''

''I do not have high expectations of coming out of this alive. But I will be taking the ones responsible for Jaques' death with me, and that Goddess too.''

The Knight's hands rested upon the large leather belt around his slim waist, a belt that carried a heavy broadsword and a nasty-looking dagger. Balducci could not help but disapprove how close the Templar's hands were to the weapons.

''Kill the Goddess?'' He asked. He did not really want to know what Lacroix was up to, but he feared that any silence from him would betray his worries. ''And how do you suppose succeeding at something the Church failed at for so many decades?''

''A little research in ancient documents and the Church would have known that Maats Feather and Scale can not be destroyed as long as she is alive. She needs to be killed or they will keep coming back, but the Church was to damn stupid to even consider that possibility. To get to Maat I need both items at the same time, and the Assassins are in possession of the Scale.''

''Which is why you need to find their headquarters and...''

Balducci stopped in the middle of his sentence. The Knight's blue gaze ran him through like a spear and the nonchalant smile was gone. Lacroix straightened himself up and came closer:

''You know, cardinal, when the Assassins do something, they are _very_ thorough. I have no doubts about them knowing that you are implicated in this affair. When they come to find you, which is only a matter of time before they do, what do you think they will want to know?''

A sudden change in the Templar's voice made Balducci take a few steps back but the Frenchman followed and prevented him from going further by placing his hands on each side of the man's head.

''They will be wanting to know where I am, which you won't know of course, but as it makes you useless to them you will panick and tell them what you _do_ know: that I will be showing up at their headquarters sooner or later to take the Scale. And I can not let you tell them that.''

Lacroix's hands squeezed the cardinal's skull harder as he spoke and Balducci's eyes went wider and wider.

''You bastard!'' The cardinal thundered. ''I had no possibility of guessing before you came and told me!''

''Yes. I talk too much.''

''You did in order to have an excuse to kill me!''

Before it even occurred to him to scream for help Lacroix's hands were clasping themselves over his nose and mouth, pushing him until he lay on top of the desk and preventing air from entering his lungs. Despite Balducci's weight and frenetic struggle Lacroix was a lot stronger than he looked, and his grip over his victim's face remained solid.

''What are you panicking for?'' The Templar hissed. ''If you lived your life like a cardinal should, you know you are off to a better place.''

* * *

><p>Altair's knee hit the training dummy with brutal force, the power of the kick breaking the wooden stand and sending the unfortunate artificial enemy flying across the training grounds. Watching it roll in a cloud of red sand, the Arab forced himself to remain calm, trying not to give in to the overwhelming urge to hit someone really hard rather than an object. Out of breath, he stood in the middle of the training room of the Assassins' underground headquarters, his chest rising and sinking rapidly. His heartbeat was loud and he had lost track of how long and how hard he had been training, but judging from the sweat running down his back and sticking his clothes to his skin, he had been at it for a while.<p>

Giving himself completely over to the beating of the dummy seemed to happen a lot lately, especially since that day, a day he tried over and over to banish to the most distant corner of his mind, but which always resurfaced somehow. Just the thought of it reinforced his fury. It pissed him off, but knowing that going berserk was not going to help anyone, him least of all, he closed his eyes, hands balled into fists. The far too vivid images came at once, the images of Ezio's grinning face, too close for comfort. Then the memory of his touch, the taste of his kisses and the heat radiating from his body.

Altair laughed bitterly at himself at the thought of how scared he had been for his partner when Ezio had been at the mercy of the red-haired giant. Knowing that Lefevre's strength and a little bad luck was all it would take for the Italian to crack his head open on the stone floor had been nerve-racking, especially since there was nothing Altair could do about it as the chains kept him from reaching out. He had been praying in silence for Ezio to shut his big mouth, for his constant flow of provocation drove the Templar mad, shattering Lefevre's notorious self-control.

Although they were entirely different Altair had grown used to having Ezio there as a partner, Ezio who despite his many flaws, was a talented assassin and someone Altair had come to respect as a colleague. Seeing him getting kicked around by the unstoppable mountain of a Templar had made Altair remember that the cheerful Italian still was just a man, that he was capable of dying like everybody else and that one little accident could deprive Altair of his company forever. The Arab had realized that he actually cared about the noisy younger man, and according to Marcia, Ezio cared about him too.

Eyes still closed, Altair snorted.

_Yeah right._

He thought about when he had been alone with the Knight of the Cross, before Ezio arrived to the house by the Vatican. No matter how brutal, painful and unpleasant Lefevre's kisses had been, the Templar had known that his need for contact was a vice but craved it nonetheless and could not help it. Ezio's kisses had been a lot more gentle, at least at first, but still several times worse. Being an assassin, the Arab knew to expect the unexpected, that things that he would never stand for could be important to others and lead to surprising events. He did not understand Lefevre's preference for men but could not deny that it had been very real. Ezio had not been driven by any deep need at all, he had just done it for fun.

Had his situation been similar to that of the Templar, Altair could have understood and forgiven. But not this. It had only been a game of power, something the Italian had done because he could, because he had been lucky enough to overpower his partner and had been in position to do whatever the hell he wanted. This was nothing close to caring.

_Are you afraid you are going to like what I do to you?  
>What the hell is there to like? You are a man.<br>I don't think it really matters, as long as I know how to touch you._

Ezio had had a point. Had the Arab not clinged to the idea that giving in would have fueled the Italian's superirority, he might have done just that, forgotten and not cared who touched him, just let himself go. But it had become a matter of pride not to give Ezio the satisfaction of bowing to him, defiance being Altair's only weapon left.

While his thoughts had wandered his fists had tightened. His knuckles had become white, and he was brought back to reality by the sound of a man clearing his throat. He turned around to see a servant standing by the entrance to the training grounds, looking directly at him.

''_Signore_ Mario requests your presence at his office.'' The man announced in a flat voice.

Altair nodded, relaxed his fists and picked up the robes and weapons he had left on a bench near the wall. As he lowered the hood over his eyes his lips stretched into a sardonic smile, and the assassin chuckled at his pitiful self.

_I lived an entire life without feeling anything, but when I do, this is what I am rewarded with? Care is just a simple, fragile little thing._

He followed the servant out, amazed by how simply care could turn into something so dangerously close to hate.


	12. Chapter 12

**'The Judgement of Maat'** chapter 12!  
>I appologize for the long wait... there's been a month since my last upload.<br>In my defence, I was drowning in university stuff O.o 1 out of 5 exams left :3  
>I hope you enjoy this chapter :D<p>

* * *

><p>Altair sat on his own on the flat part of the roof of a tall building, surveying the large and busy street about eighty feet under him. Despite the unpleasant warm and moist air of the afternoon the street was crawling with activity and he could see without being seen, as people went on with their own buisness without even bothering looking up to the sky. Not that the tower-like building was an architectural pearl worth admiring either. The assassin's white robes offered little contrast against the heavy white stones, and though the citizens of Rome seemed to pay their surroundings little attention, Altair did. Nothing escaped his attention in his search for Frédérique Lacroix.<p>

Three weeks had passed since he and Ezio had escaped the Knight of the Cross' grip and nobody had neither seen nor heard anything about the man since. Mario's informants had worked hard to find the Frenchman but had come up with absolutely nothing, he had just suddenly disappeared.

_He may have left the city or he could still be out there somewhere, hiding, waiting for the moment to strike_. Mario Auditore had said. _We should not lower our guard just yet_.

Altair had been the one appointed to continue keeping an eye out for the Templar while everyone else went back to other assignments, Ezio included. Altair did not know what his former partner's mission had been, but the Italian had left Rome a week ago, in the direction of Florence, Tuscany. The Arab did not really care either and had not been there to see him off. Just thinking about Ezio made Altair's anger flare up, and the longer he stayed away from Rome, the better it would be for the both of them.

Something touched Altair's gloved hand. By reflex, the sharp hidden blade at the assassin's wrist jumped out to take the place of his right ring finger, ready for a deadly bite. At the surprising sight of what he had readied himself to stab, he rose an eyebrow. A small thing full of orange fur with pointy ears and a fluffy tail was looking up at him with two green eyes. The sharp blade retracted itself into its leather sheath and the Arab picked up the little creature.

''A cat?''

The animal sitting in his palm was not much larger than his hand, yet it seemed unafraid and just kept looking at the assassin, its head bobbed to the side. Amused, Altair watched it curl itself into a ball as it started to purr and scratched the cat's cheek, turning his hooded head back to the street. The sun was setting quickly, bathing the city in warm, orange light but storm clouds in the horizon and a distant yet loud rumbling announced a night of rain and thunder. Nightfall was close when the assassin gave up looking for Lacroix for the day and nudged the sleeping kitten with the tip of his finger.

''Sorry, little guy, but I'll be going. You should find your mother.''

Had he not known better, he would have thought that the animal understood exactly what he said. The green eyes looked into his, but instead of jumping down to the ground, the cat decided to jump from the assassin's hand to his shoulder and looked at something behind him. Altair turned around. On a ledge not far was a hairy form, lying immobile on the stone. Judging from the lack of stench the animal had not been dead for long, but a couple of crows were already gathering nearby.

''Oh. I guess you'll be coming with me, then.''

* * *

><p>Florence had had more luck with the weather than Rome. The air had been heavy and moist during the day but there were no storm clouds in sight and the air had cooled as soon as the sun went down. Nonchalently sitting on a tree branch in a park, Ezio rested his head against the bark, enjoying his own company for a moment. The assassin wore civil clothes, a green tunic over a white shirt and brown trousers, the only remaining elements from his assassin uniform being the knee-high leather boots and the sharp dagger at his belt. Absently playing with the small wooden beads of his necklaces, he was calmly dangling one of his legs back and forth. Tomorrow he would be heading back, his mission here in Florence concluded earlier this day. He would be back to Rome, back to uncle Mario... and back to Altair.<p>

His scarred lips stretched into a grin. Altair, his deadly, rough and yet wonderful partner. The Arab had avoided Ezio since Leonardo's atelier and not once had he asked Ezio how his injuries recovered. The last time they saw eachother was in the hallway of the Assassins' headquarters in Rome, and Altair had walked past him without a word. Still, Ezio had not missed the slight narrowing of the grey eyes into dangerous slits as the other assassin became aware of him. The Italian was not stupid, he knew exactly why. It was also part of the plan, a plan he disliked despite the fact that it was his own. Altair's behavior, though it had remained proud and cold, had changed since Maat sent him to this time and Ezio knew his partner had come to develop a soft spot for him. The Arab would stubbornly deny it if asked, of course.

In the beginning, Altair had barely cared about Ezio's well-being because they worked together and were supposed to keep eachother alive. But in the moment Ezio was faced with the threat that was Jaques Lefevre, the way the tan assassin had reacted had shown that he cared for Ezio in a manner he would not for just any partner. The Italian hated himself for it, but this could not continue. Maat had sent Altair here to become a better man, and what would happen once he became so? The chances were great that the goddess would take away his youth and send him back to his own time and place, where he truely belonged.

What would become of Ezio then? With Altair as his partner he felt whole, safe. The man was always there to watch his back, and even though they argued most of the time, the Italian did not want his back watched by anyone else. When the goddess took Altair away, Ezio would be back to his old life as an assassin but lacking something. He could not let that happen. He could not let Altair reach his goal, even if it meant sabotaging everything.

Sure, they had hated eachother violently when they first met. Altair's calm yet threatening facade had irritated Ezio endlessly, making him want to crack this unbearable emotionless person, to hurt him. Even less emotions as an answer to his pestering was the last thing Ezio had expected, leading to an escalation as they both were too proud to let the other win. Then he had gotten an idea: In a fair fight they were equally strong, but Ezio was good at a lot more than fighting. Using tricks he had learned with women against Altair would throw the other assassin off for a second, and a second was all it took for power to choose sides. The plan had both succeeded and backfired. The Italian using his body to fight Altair in other ways than inflicting him physical pain had surprised the Arab enough to let his anger and irritation shine through, but it had also awakened Ezio's curiosity. It had become fun to test how far he could go before Altair's impassive mask fell to pieces like a broken mirror, but before he saw it coming he began enjoying it in other ways entirely.

Ezio saw himself as a rather handsome and attractive individual but the Arab was nothing less, and his pride depending on not giving in made him special in a way. No matter how much Ezio loved women, easy conquests were starting to bore him and ended up looking all the same. Teasing Altair was _fun _but became soon something he craved for and began to touch his partner because he also longed for contact.

The feeling of his partner's warm body pressed against his own, his enticing skin and the taste of his lips... God how he wanted it again, how he wanted Altair's fingers tangled in his hair or caressing his scars while he slid the grey tunic off the man's shoulders.

Then it had hit the Italian. As he was the one who had started the game, his own pride also depended on not giving in either, pride that became more and more difficult to keep the more he kept destroying their partnership. Flirting was the only weapon that worked against the impassive assassin but it was also a double-edged sword, something Ezio had come to realize the day they met Marcia and was careful about ever since. The further he went the more irritated Altair became, backing away from his goal indeed, but also the more Ezio struggled not to show how much he wanted him.

He had barely succeeded at Leonardo's atelier, mascarading what he did for pleasure as a crude game for power which would give him what he wanted as well as keeping Altair's growing hatred for him alive.

Ezio shook his head and chuckled.

_Merda_. This was turning into some sort of cliché tragedy.

He sighed and let himself slide down from the branch, landing silently on the grass ten feet below. He realized that it was quite late and that he should be resting for the early departure the next morning, but his mind was far too agitated and he was certainly not leaving Florence without visiting a certain person.

It was way past midnight when he reached Cristina's house. He hade already been there a couple of times during his stay, waiting for the young woman to appear, but in vain. Tonight he had more luck. Standing on the large white balcony on the front of the house she shared with her husband, Cristina was looking out over the garden, not aware of her former lover's presence by the front door. She still wore her dress, apparently having decided not to go to bed just yet. Her slender fingers were tight around a golden locket hanging at a chain around her elegant neck, and Ezio's spirits lifted when he spotted her.

The memory of the last time they had met was still fresh. At that time she had been both sad and furious because Ezio had let her marry her husband, when it was him she wanted and not Manfredo. No matter how much he had wished he could have married her, as an assassin, he could not. Now, he was not sure that she would see him, but decided to try nonetheless.

''Cristina.''

Her dark eyes found him and widened. God was she beautiful.

''Ezio!'' She whispered between her teeth.

They looked at eachother for a couple of seconds, and he was not sure of what she thought before she gathered her long skirt in her fists and stepped over the railing to climb down the solid rose tree hugging the house wall with its branches. Ezio watched her land safely on her feet. She had obviously kept the adventurous girl inside her alive. She ran at him and flung her arms around him, hugging him warmly. When they finally seperated, her face was illuminated by a large smile.

''Come with me.'' She said, taking his hand.

She lead them to the garden, where they found a beautifully sculpted stone bench.

''I wasn't sure you would see me.'' He said, sitting down.

''I understand. I must really appologize for my behavior, but the last time we met, I was a girl scared to death by her new life. I had married a man I could not force myself to respect and I had just found out that I also was with child, which made the return to my old life impossible. Seeing you again then just reminded me of what I could have had and I snapped. But time passed, and in the end it is not so bad after all.''

''Cristina, I really wish things could have been otherwise, but...''

She stopped him, a firm but friendly hand on his arm.

''You do not need to explain yourself. I trust that you did not leave because you had tired of me, and what made it impossible for us to be together then makes it just as impossible now. Keep your secret. Besides, I am a mother with a beautiful little girl.''

She opened the locket and showed Ezio the small painting of a baby.

''I belong with her and Manfredo now.''

She paused, looking at the young man.

''I loved you and I still do, but the same can not be said about you.''

Anxious, Ezio's eyes turned to her. She chuckled.

''Don't worry, people move on. Love stays or withers, it is different for everyone. I simply do not hold your love anymore, Ezio.''

His heart stung.

''Cristina, I do love you.''

''But as a friend.''

Her delicate hand cupped his cheek as her eyes gazed into his.

''You have changed, you are not a child any longer. You are much more confident and your fondness for the people close to you burns stronger than ever. But the spark that used to lighten up your eyes when you looked at me, the one that said 'I want to spend the rest of my life with you', is gone.''

It was true. He enjoyed sitting here with her, he was happy that she had not rejected to see him. But his fiery love for her was dead, and yet it had been reborn for no other.

''Before you go,'' she whispered, ''I would like you to do one thing for me.''

''Anything.'' He answered.

She removed the chain with the golden locket from around her neck before sitting closer to him. Then she pressed a hand to his chest while tangling the other in his hair.

Oh well. His thoughts about Altair could wait.

* * *

><p>Still a couple of chapters to go! :3 This one was a filler, so there's not really any action... but there will be next time, I assure you xD<br>I'm quite sure that Altair finding a kitty was totally unexpected... and random 8D But the guy needs something cute in his life!


	13. Chapter 13

**'The Judgement of Maat' chapter 13**  
>Finally done with my exams! *runs around room like a retard*<br>I am aware that there might be a lot of spelling mistakes and they will be corrected.  
>Enjoy this chapter and don't forget to comment or review!<p>

* * *

><p>Altair sat down on his bed, a stack of papers in hand. His small, austere room was lit by the warm glow of two large candles on the fragile wooden table. This room, who would have seemed empty and uncomfortably simple to many others was perfect for him. It contained everything he needed, nothing more. A man of simple taste, the Arab had never found luxury attractive, and scoffed at the idea of mansions, expensive clothes and demanding mistresses that complicated the existence unnecessarily. This was why he felt content enough, sitting down on the blanket of rough wool while reading the information for a new assignment.<p>

Something sharp stung his hip. The kitten, which had been playing around on the mattress had stuck its claws into him, taking everything within its reach for a toy, and someone who moved around was a lot funnier to mess with than inanimate objects. It suddenly jumped off the bed to run like crazy everywhere within the limited space of the room and Altair felt himself grin at the animal's entertaining behavior. He let the cat jump and run as it pleased until it tired and climbed back onto the mattress, stretching itself out as long as it was beside him and kicking him with its hind paws.

''Oh, no you won't push me off. This is _my_ bed, you know.'' He said, smiling and poking the cat's nose.

The animal answered by rubbing its face against his outstretched finger and Altair chuckled. His good mood darkened as soon as he heard three hard knocks at the door. Only one person would come to see him this late.

_Great._

The one in the corridor did not wait for his approval to let himself in. After he had closed the door behind himself Ezio went to sit down on the bed by Altair's side, the soud of his boots against the stone floor echoing against the close walls.

''What are you doing here?'' The tan assassin asked.

''Try not to sound too happy to see me, Altair, you might hurt yourself. _Ma che_... what have we here?''

The Italian's voice was cheerful when he discovered the kitten as he almost sat down on it.

''I never would have thought that you liked animals.'' He said.

''They are more trustworthy than humans. And they don't talk.''

A protesting '_meow_' came from the animal when Ezio picked it up so he could sit on the mattress instead, but its discontent was cut short when Ezio took it in his arms to pet its head.

''Look! He likes me!''

''Obviously.''

Altair's gaze went back to his papers and Ezio watched him silently for a minute, still scratching the cat which purred like an engine in his embrace.

''A new assignment?''

''M-hm.''

''You look even grumpier than usual. How long has it been since you had any fun at all?''

''Our work is not about having fun.''

''We are not working all the time, you can allow yourself to relax once in a while.''

Ezio proceeded to tell Altair about everything he had done in Florence, for work and for pleasure. He told him about the trip all the way to Tuscany, the mission, the city, Cristina and the trip back to Rome. While he spoke the other read his papers, obviously not paying much attention to anything he said. The younger assassin fell silent, watching the Arab's profile.

''Altair.''

No answer. Ezio sighed and reached out, snatching the papers out of Altair's hands.

''Are you ignoring me?''

Teeth bared in rising irritation, the other snatched the instructions for his new mission back before his annoying former partner could hold them out of his reach.

''You know, you really are too agressive.'' Ezio said. ''And you have no idea how to have fun. Do not tell me you're still angry for what happened at Leo's...''

The older assassin snorted, stood up and slammed the papers on the table which creaked under the weight of his hand.

''If I am as boring as you seem to think, why don't you just run back to fantastic Florence...''

He turned around, silver eyes stabbing Ezio's brown ones.

''...and back to your whore?''

The words rolled off his tongue like venom. The way Ezio immediately tensed with indignation as he spoke pleased him, his schadenfreude fueled by his wounded pride. Ezio's fine, normally relaxed features were now hardened, jaw clenched and scarred lips pressed into a thin line. The usually warm eyes were now just as cold as Altair's own, and the young man stood up, marched right up to the other and asked, tone low and threatening:

''What the hell did you say?''

The kitten had jumped off him, feeling the tense mood escalating.

''I said that you should run back to Florence and your whore.'' Altair sneered, his voice dangerous and almost like a snarl.

Ezio's hands shot out, as did the hidden blade at his wrist. Pressing the weapon against the Arab's throat and grabbing the front of his robes he roughly pushed Altair up against the wall.

''Christina is _nothing_ you say she is.'' He growled.

''Really?'' The other mocked. ''A married woman who sleeps around with an old lover because she is unable to keep herself into her skirts in his presence is no better than the girls standing on the corners of the streets. The difference is that they do what they must to survive, while she does it out of pure perversion.''

The sharp blade dug into his skin and Ezio threatened:

''Take that back or help me God I will bleed you to death.''

Ignoring the blade cutting deeper into his skin and his own warm blood now running down his chest and staining his robes, Altair grabbed the front of Ezio's shirt, bringing their faces only inches from one another. He whispered:

''She's got even less honor than the whores on the docks and you're no better than their customers.''

Things went very fast. Ezio, blinded by his rage against the man who so cruelly compared Cristina to common prostitutes, lifted a fist to punch him, but Altair had calculated his move and was faster. He pushed the blade off his thoat and blocked Ezio's fist, slamming his knee against the other assassin's ribs at the same time. The air kicked out of his lungs, the Italian stumbled backwards and fell heavily onto the bed.

But Altair was not done. He pushed Ezio down into the mattress and lay himself over him, one hand holding a fistful of the Italian's dark hair, yanking his head back. His face expressed a fury like none Ezio had ever seen or felt before, and in this moment Ezio realized what went on, what he had done. On top of him was the Altair who was ready to kill out of wounded pride, merciless and violent, the one Maat had tried to make his former partner let go of. And he, afraid of losing Altair out of selfish reasons, had lead him back to this dark corner of himself. He saw that now, but he had not imagined that the effect of his teasing would be so catastrophic, that it would drive the older assassin this mad. The Altair before him did what he did and said what he said to hurt him, to cause him pain beyond physical.

The Italian's anger eased and so did his features. The Arab was not holding his arms, which meant that he did not even care if Ezio decided to stab him with the blades at his wrists or not. There was only one way out of this. The weapon retracted itself into place and the tan assassin's eyes narrowed, studying Ezio's now surprisingly calm face.

''What are you up to?''

''I do not want to fight you, Altair.''

The other scoffed:

''Not one minute ago you were ready to slit my throat and leave me bleeding.''

He leaned forward to expose his neck, the blood running from the wound dripping on Ezio's face.

''You were so hungry for it.'' He hissed. ''So eager to defend your lady friend. Now take out your blade and finish it.''

But Ezio's thoughts were no longer about defending Cristina's honor from foul words. They were more and more focused on the man laying over him, on the warm bare skin only inches from him, on the robes and tunic which two first hooks had become undone to reveal the top of the Arab's muscular chest.

''Altair, stop. This is getting ridiculous.''

''It already was. And since you've started to scorn me by doing what you do with your little stress relievers, why don't you finish this too?''

The hand lacking the ring finger tightened its grip in the Italian's hair and tipped Ezio's head back, the young man's gasp of pain silenced by Altair crushing his lips with his own. There was nothing loving about the kiss. It was made to hurt, it was an expression of white-hot rage to make Ezio taste his own humiliating medicine. Altair's other hand found its way to the Italian's ribs and put pressure on the already sore area. A low growl rumbled in Ezio's throat and the brown eyes squeezed shut, his fingers curling around the other assassin's wrist to relieve himself from the merciless treatment. Altair tore his mouth off his.

''What is it? I thought you enjoyed this sort of thing.''

Ezio's eyes opened, calm but sad. Not what Altair had expected at all.

''Please, Altair, stop it. I can see that I was stupid, that I hurt you and you have all the right to be angry, but...''

He let go of the man's wrist and squeezed his shoulder firmly for a moment before touching the palm to Altair's cheek, brown eyes locked into the grey ones.

''...I hope you can forgive me.''

Altair's gaze was suddenly not murderous anymore, his anger replaced by confusion. And pain. For the first time in his life he looked hurt.

''Is this some kind of apology?''

''Yeah. This is me apologizing for being an _idiota_.'' Ezio smiled weakly. ''I know I am poor at it, but I really mean it.''

The Arab looked even more surprized when Ezio's arm wrapped itself across his back, pulling him down and the hand on his cheek moved to his hair, but he let it happen.

Cursing the thick, complicated leather belt around his partner's waist that prevented their bodies to sink completely against one another, Ezio held back a sigh and closed his eyes again when Altair's face came to rest against his neck. The hug was sincere, and he was rewarded by Altair's body relaxing little by little and the four-fingered hand in his hair releasing its grip.

''Excuse me for ruining the mood,'' the Arab mumbled, his warm breath against the Italian's skin making Ezio want to arch his back to press his body tighter against his former partner's, ''but what were you actually trying to do? To show that you are the alpha dog? To prove something to yourself?''

Ezio longed to groan unhappily as some of the shared warmth disappeared when Altair pushed himself up slightly to look at him. The tan assassin was almost as calm as him now, but Ezio knew him to be on his guard and not yet ready to forget everything, the beautiful silver eyes searching his for answers.

''I need you, Altair. I want you to stay as my partner.''

''That's very cute, but it does not answer my question.''

Ezio looked up at him, silent for a while, then let his hand on the other's back slide down to the man's biceps, caressing the strong muscle with his thumb.

''I told you. I need you.''

''No. You need women, you need them because they can be with you in ways that I can not.''

Ezio grinned:

''There's always room for an exception.''

''You are impossible.'' Altair snorted.

''Hm. Maybe.''

The Italian pulled him down until his lips met Altair's collar bone, the tan assassin snapping his breath as Ezio started to lick him slowly. Ezio struggled to open the buckle of Altair's weapon harness and the other felt him smile as he succeeded, throwing the now undone harness to the floor. Tongue licking the wound made by his own hidden blade, the Italian undid two more of the hooks closing his former partner's robes and tunic, baring more of the battle-scarred skin he wished to feel against his own. A shiver ran along Altair's spine, the dark-haired assassin dragging one side of the sleeveless robes off his shoulder, off the thin, grey tunic.

With a twist of his body Ezio rolled them both over, so that he now was on top of the Arab and pushed a hard kiss to the curve between the man's neck and shoulder, feeling the front of his own shirts coming loose as the shift of weight tugged at the buttons. A soft moan escaped Altair's lips, Ezio's teeth scraping at his flesh while the younger's hand slid down the only tunic-clad side of his chest, fingers roughly massaging through the fabric.

He flipped them both around back into their original position, finding himself on top of Ezio again, the undone top of his tunic completely falling off his shoulder in the process. He hezitated for a second, then tipped the Italian's chin up and pushed his lips to his. Ezio groaned loudly in satisfaction and answered the kiss eagerly, threw his arms around Altair's waist, again cursing this bothersome leather belt he would have to do something about.

Then a loud scream tore through the silence of the night.

* * *

><p>Loooads of shit are about to happen, true story! Stay tuned for the next chapter!<p> 


	14. Chapter 14

**'The Judgement of Maat'** chapter 14  
>Daaamn! What a couple of turbulent weeks ._.<br>Not only did I get much more work at my summer job than what was agreed, people also started getting sick so I had to take their shifts on my days off X_x  
>Now! Without any further ado, I give to you this chapter, that it took me more time to bring forward than I had hoped. Don't forget to comment andor review! :D

**Warning:** this chapter contains some gory descriptions.

* * *

><p>Ezio was amazed by how little time it took Altair to get off him. The warmth of his body was gone once again and the Arab now stood by the bed, closing the front of his tunic and robes and buckling the weapon harness over his chest. The tan assassin was lowering his hood over his eyes when Ezio jumped out of bed too to arrange his own clothing.<p>

The scream had come from the far end of the hall, and soon, they were both running to the scene. At the foot of the large staircase leading to the offices they found a novice laying on the floor, blood pooling behind his neck and head. He looked like he had been through hell. His clothes were dirty with mud and dried blood, his emaciated face bearing signs of violent treatment and torture. The most alarming thing however, was the large gaping gash in his throat, made by something larger and coarser than a dagger or an assassin's hidden blade, and through the nasty cut came a gurgle as the shaking young man desperately tried to fill his lungs with air.

It was incredible that he still clung to his life. He was whimpering and crying, his dark, terrified eyes pleading as Ezio kneeled beside him and put a warm hand on the novice's forehead. A few seconds later he was gone. Other assassins had been coming from their rooms in time to see the young man's last struggles and had gathered in a circle around the dying. Questions were fired from everywhere:

''What the hell?''  
>''Who here could have done this to him?''<p>

Ezio closed the novice's eyes, stood up and Altair whispered to him:

''Nobody could have come past us and none of these men have blood on their uniforms. His killer is not present, but neither is your uncle.''

The Italian's eyes widened before he elbowed his way out from the circle and ran off, climbing the stairs three by three, a confused Altair a few steps behind. The double door to Mario Auditore's office slammed loudly against the walls when he brutally pushed it open and Ezio stopped in his tracks, what he saw making his heart skip a beat.

''Welcome, boys. I was waiting for you.''

Uncle Mario was on his knees in the middle of his own office, lip, head and shoulder bleeding. His beloved sword lay discarded on the floor in front of him, shattered to pieces by the heavy blow of a far larger and more powerful sword. Behind him, fingers clenching the Italian's injured shoulder stood Frédérique Lacroix, thin and colourless lips stretched into a sardonic smile.

''Close the doors, boys. We do not want to be interrupted.''

The blade of the Frenchman's broadsword roughly pushing between Mario's shoulders made the older assassin wince, and it was clear that the only thing keeping him up was the Templar's grip on him. Eyeing his uncle Ezio stepped into the room, followed by Altair who closed the doors quietly.

''Do you know that I had to go to extreme lengths to find you guys?'' The Frenchman sighed. ''Since the location of your hideout only is known to the members of the Assassins, I had to catch myself one of your novices, thinking he would spill the beans easily. You can not imagine how annoyed I was when I found out I was terribly wrong. He resisted me for much longer that I would've imagined.''

He leaned forward over Mario's shoulder, his face just a couple of inches from his prisoner's ear and dug the tip of his fingers into the bleeding flesh:

''It's truely wonderful how resisting and stubborn your men are. You _have_ to tell me how you train them.''

Ezio gave the Knight of the Cross a murderous glare.

''You mistreated him.''

''Of course I did, the kid refused to tell me where you all were hiding! I held him for weeks but in the end, he broke like everyone always does. He lead me here, and after that labyrinth I hade no further use for him.''

''I'm going to enjoy cutting your damned head off, _bastardo_.''

''Not if you would like to keep your uncle alive.'' Lacroix said when Ezio took a couple of steps towards him, and pushed the sword harder against Mario's back, forcing Ezio to stop.

''I thought you might.'' He mocked.

To his right, standing on Mario's desk was the silver Scale. The Frenchman's eyes darted to it.

''Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment with a soon to be extinct diety. Back off all the way to the door, the both of you.''

His hand left Mario's shoulder to pick something from one of his pockets, something that emitted a warm golden glow in his gloved fist. The Feather.

''Think again.''

Insanely fast Altair had reached for two of the knives carried by his weapon harness and thrown them. One hit the Scale, sending the artefact rolling on the floor and out of Lacroix's reach, and the other flew in the Templar's direction, forcing him to step away from Ezio's uncle to avoid it. As soon as Lacroix let go of him Mario collapsed, exhausted.

''Uncle!'' Ezio shouted, hurrying by the older man's side to support him.

A couple of rapid glances were enough for the Frenchman to analyse the situation. It did not look too promising for him. Letting go of Mario had costed him his only leverage against the assassins, and Altair had stepped in between him and the Scale. His only remaining option was fighting, but perhaps he could take down at least one of those nightmares in white before finding Maat if he was lucky.

''Altair. Move.''

Ezio's voice was full of strangled anger when he stood up and came to stand by the Arab's side. Having assured himself that his uncle was not in immediate danger, his thoughts were now about making their enemy pay for hurting a member of his family and torturing and killing a member of the Creed. Smiling, Lacroix watched the assassins switch places, the Italian now standing between him and the artefact he needed and Altair kneeling by Mario's side to bandage the man's wounds. The steady ringing of steel as Ezio unsheathed his sword was a wordless promise that victory would not be his easily.

The Templar's broadsword mashed into the more slender one, but was unable to shatter it the way it had shattered the older Auditore's. It was soon clear that the assassin had the advantage and that Lacroix would be fatally handicapped should the fight last too long. Ezio's sword being lighter and therefore much more mobile in the limited space of the office than his adversary's made the Italian faster, each hit swift and hard. Lacroix's broadsword required more room and force to bring around, and the assassin's blade clashing into his in rapid successions were beginning to tire the Frenchman's arms out.

Ezio's uniform also fullfilled its purpose. The hood covering the expressions of his face and the robes hiding most of his footwork made him a hard man to predict, and the blows were coming so fast that anticipating his moves from the way his upper body worked was nearly impossible. Sometimes Lacroix got a glimpse of the shining brown eyes. Ezio's body being younger was stronger, faster and more agile than his, and the assassin was soon granted the upper hand. An elbow collided with the Templar's cheek and the man was thrown to the floor, losing his sword in the process.

''Get up.'' Ezio growled.

''I have a much better idea.'' Lacroix grinned, teeth reddened by his own blood and hoisting himself up on his elbows and knees.

He spat as Ezio's feet and reached inside his cape. Pinched between his thumb and index finger was the blade of a light dagger which he threw past Ezio, towards Altair and Mario. The Arab had just finished binding the wounded man's cuts with pieces of fabric he had torn from his own robes but he had payed attention to the fight, and swatted the dagger away with one of his own knives quite easily. Ezio knew very well that his former partner was more than able to hold his own against sharp objects flying at him, but had still done exactly what Lacroix had expected him to do. He had looked over to the others and away from the Frenchman for a couple of seconds, as if to make sure that they indeed were safe, which was all his enemy needed.

When Ezio looked back at him Lacroix had thrown himself at the Scale and was now holding it in one hand, the Feather in the other. A loud bang was heard. The gun at the assassin's wrist spat fire, the smell of gunpowder filled the air and a bullet loged itself in Lacroix's arm, making the man scream and drop the artefact but it was too late. The Feather had already touched the plate of the Scale. The eyes of the silver face carved into the precious metal snapped open and its lips parted to free a flow of ancient egyptian spells, opening the passage between this world and the realm of the ancient gods.

The office was not there anymore. They were now surrounded by the coarse stone walls of Maat's temple, its statues and engraved hieroglyphs lit by large roaring fires. Altair recognized the place, and as always, the goddess was seated in her tall throne, the Feather back into her golden headpiece. The Arab thought they must be looking like a strange lot to her: he, trying to keep Mario's condition stable and keeping pressure on the wounds to calm the man's blood loss, and Ezio standing sword in hand and Lacroix on all four with a bleeding arm, both looking up at the serene diety in astonishment.

The italian assassin was unable to take his eyes from her slender, elegant and simply dressed form. He had often tried to picture how she looked, but saw how far he had been from the truth. Because of her pupil- and iris-less eyes it was impossible to guess exactly where she was looking, and although it made her a bit frightening to look at, she seemed kind enough when she spoke with a graceful gesture of her hand:

''_Welcome_.''

Her face turned a little and she nodded at Altair.

''_Son of No One_.''  
>''Finally.''<p>

Despite his hurtful arm the Templar jumped to his feet and picked up his sword, lunging towards Maat with his blade ready to crush her skull. As he brought it down for the blow it was stopped, and the sound of metal hitting metal rang through the temple. Between Maat and the Knight of the Cross stood a new creature, towering over the Frenchman. The arms and legs of the god's tan human body were thick with bulging muscles but his black head was everything but human. His features were wolf-like and his ears large and pointy, and a snarling mouth uncovered sharp, white fangs.

Around his bicepses ran two large rings of gold and what seemed like a kind of blue glass, and around his neck was a large necklace in a similar style. Under it, resting against the jackal-god's chiseled chest was a large black ankh, hung at a slender leather strap. He was covered from waist to knee by a complicated loincloth and his large hands held a golden flail, which he had used to stop Lacroix's sword without difficulty.

Maat, who had remained perfectly calm, stood up from her seat, head held high and simple gold jewelry glittering like small suns in the light of the fires.

''_I would hate to be the bringer of unfortunate news, Templar_.'' She said with her deep voice. ''_But Anubis does not appear unless he senses that a dark heart has found its way to this place._''

The jackal-god swung the flail around with incredible strength, forcing the Frenchman's blade out of its owner's hands and throwing the man back. The stones of the floor scraped against eachother as they rearranged themselves to form a large hole, through which a much greater version of the weighing Scale ascended. Maat released the Feather from her headpiece and Anubis walked towards Lacroix, bare feet thundering against the stone. He roughly grabbed the Templar by the front of his tunic before carrying him to the Scale and unceremoniously throwing him down onto one of the plates.

As soon as the Feather touched its own plate both sides were brought to equal balance. Then the side carrying the Templar started to sink. Altair partly knew what came next. He heard Ezio snap his breath in surprise when the Scale turned into the large demon Ammit, her monsterous leopard paws tightening around Lacroix's wrists to hold his arms twisted between his back in a crushing grip, powerful claws ripping up his skin right through the leather of his gloves. She held him fast as Maat came down the steps of her throne to stand before them, white dress not even emitting the slightest sound as she walked.

The goddess of justice and judgement brought a tan hand to rest against the Templar's chest, white eyes studying the man's terrified face.

''_I am sorry._'' She said. ''_But there is nothing I can do for you. The evil rooted in your heart and soul can not be unmade_.''

She removed her hand slowly and went to stand in front of the throne. She had barely turned her back before Ammit turned Lacroix around to face her, spitting her horrible breath in his face. The crocodile mouth seemed to smile and the yellow eyes glittered before the scaled snout sank to the Templar's chest. Her sharp teeth voraciously tore through cloth, chainmail, skin and flesh, tearing a yell of panick and pain from her prisoner's throat. The horrible sound of bones cracking under her jaws made the assassins wince but Anubis threw his head back to laugh in a way that sounded more like the howl of a hound, and Maat closed her eyes.

Lacroix's horrifying screams died rapidly. The Devourer dropped him to the floor and threw herself over him, ravaging his corpse, ripping flesh and splattering blood on herself and the floor. Her wild eyes were filled with beastly pleasure when she backed off to contemplate her work. The man's body was beaten, broken and covered in his own blood, with a large empty hole where the heart had been. Pieces of bones and ribs stuck out from the bloody flesh and the Templar's dead blue eyes stared lifeless at the ceiling. Satisfied, the demon sniffed her prey a couple of times before turning away and hopping back to the hole into which she jumped and disappeared. Anubis' black eyes looked briefely at Maat who had reopened her white ones, and after having received a short nod from her, the god hit the butt of his flail against the stone, one hand stretched out in front of him. He and the remains of Lacroix vanished as suddenly as he had arrived.

''Where did they go?'' Ezio asked Altair, although he doubted that his former partner held the answer.

Maat's head turned to him.

''_I know that the punishment the Templar received was gruesome, but it was a necessary one. Such evil must be destroyed at all costs, sometimes with extreme means. My only regret is that you had to see it._''

She paused before speaking again, this time to Altair:

''_I believe that I hold something of yours, Son of No One. And now is the time for you to have it back._''

As his soul returned to him warmth spread itself through Altair's body, and he felt more whole than ever had, even before his first time meeting the goddess. It filled him entirely from head to toe, from every stand of hair to the tip of his fingers. But he did not feel age take him again, and most memories of his previous life remained lost to him.

''_You have done well, I am glad to see that I was right about you._'' Maat said. ''_The task was far from a simple one, but you completed it beautifully in the end..._''

Her eyes darted to Ezio for an instant and the Italian suddenly found his own boots very intresting to look at.

''_...although there was a minor setback_.''

She climbed the three steps up to her throne and sat back in it, hands lightly gripping the armrests.

''_You are now free of my entanglements. You can go back to Italy, the both of you_.''

The two assassins looked genuinely surprised.

''Go back?'' Altair asked. ''As simply as that? Now that I have done what you sent me to Italy for, I thought you were going to send me back to my own time and place.''

''_Why would I do that? Neither do I interfere with people's lives nor do I bend time and space simply because I can. I do it because it has a purpose. Yes, you do belong in another time, in another place, but you are more needed now, Son of No One. And I made you change so you could be there and care for the ones that need you. I believe that the Assassins are doing the right thing to bring an end to corruption and injustice, and I want you to fight with them in a way you were not able to before._''

She smiled.

''_There would be little use in forcing you to change to the better and then deny you the possibility to be the man you have become. Teaching someone a lesson and then keeping them from using what they learned is utterly pointless_.''

She paused again.

''_Does this answer the questions that have been troubling you?_''

* * *

><p><strong>Stay tuned for the 15th and last chapter!<strong>


	15. Chapter 15

**'The Judgement of Maat'** chapter 15  
>It ended up being the longest chapter I ever wrote by far xD<br>I'm very happy with it, and I hope you will be please too, my faithful readers!  
>Huuuge thanks to everyone that read, commented and came with reviews,<br>it helped a lot to see if what I wrote went in the right direction or not.

Once again: thank you so much and enjoy this final chapter!

* * *

><p>Altair's knuckles knocked softly on the door to Mario Auditore's chambers. Soon, the handle turned and a grey-haired man poked his head out.<p>

''How is he?'' The assassin asked.

The doctor sighed and opened the door completely, showing the sorry sight of the normally so vigorous Mario in bed, either asleep or unconscious with his upper body and head almost disappearing under several layers of bandages.

''At least i looks worse than it is. He is stable and out of danger, but he has lost a fair lot of blood and needs to rest. He may not wake up for a couple of days.''

The old man pointed to an empty chair by the bed:

''What worries me however, is his nefew. Although I assured him that his uncle would be fine he refused to leave his side, neither did he eat nor did he sleep. When I finally managed to persuade him to get some rest, he just nodded and looked so sad it breaks my heart. Seeing his uncle like this isn't doing him any good.''

''Ezio is not in his room. Do you have any idea of where he might have gone?''

''He never spoke a word.''

''Very well. I will look for him.''

The assassin turned around, feeling the doctor's eyes follow him as he descended the stairs down to the hall, white robes dancing around his booted legs. He had not seen Ezio but briefly the day before, and the young man had indeed seemed tired, preoccupied and sad.

He started to search for his fellow assassin in the streets close to the headquarters but came gradually closer to the streets housing taverns and brothels, as he was unable to find the other in the more respectable areas. The air was hot and moist, and he would not be surprised to hear the rumble of thunder anytime. The sun had set only a short time ago and the inns, shops and taverns had already lit their lights, cheering up the streets that were otherwise plunged in darkness. They were full of people sitting at large wooden tables outside, enjoying the warm evening, drink and pleasurable female company.

As he heard a well-known voice articulate some slurry sentences Altair knew he had come to the right place. He could not see him, but the assassin had no problems picturing Ezio preferring to drown himself in debauchery when strangled by negative feelings rather than sitting alone on a lonely roof somewhere. Ezio's voice came from a small group of giggling women dressed in a way Altair would classify as particularily indecent, although it was impossible to make out what it said. The women stood in a circle around someone, looking down. When Altair approached he saw that this someone was the one he searched for, lying on his back on the pavement and struggling to get up, hand fisted around the neck of a bottle.

The Italian was laughing stupidly as he tried to push himself up, failing horribly and falling back down, making the women giggle even more. None of them were even trying to help him up either.

''_Merda_... waitwaitwait. This time I'll make it...''

He failed again and Altair, embarassed for him, chose this moment to nudge some of the women aside.

''Altair!'' Ezio exclamated when he saw the familiar white of his fellow assassin's uniform and held out his free hand to him. ''Help a friend up, will you?''

Slightly annoyed by the careless use of his name in front of civilians Altair grabbed Ezio's hand and dragged him a bit roughly to his feet. Still holding his bottle the Italian had to brace himself to the Arab's shoulder to avoid falling yet again, the prostitutes giggling harder at his unsteady stance.

''Ladies, this is Altair, my very good friend.'' He managed to say, waving the bottle around and throwing an arm behind the other man's neck and giving him a brusque hug.

His breath smelled strongly of alcohol and it made the Arab wince when it reached his nose.

''Are you coming, Ezio?'' One of the prostitutes asked, she and her four friends taking the young man's arm and touching their hands to his shoulders, chest and back. They apparently had planned out some action before Altair's arrival.

''I need to talk to him for a moment.'' The older assassin answered before his former partner could, holding Ezio back as he tried to break away to follow the women.

The prostitutes' eyes starred blankly at his impassible face, hard and determined eyes barely perceivable from the shadow of his hood, banishing any possibility of a discussion. Ezio raised his arm, took a large mouthful of wine.

''It's all right, ladies, I'll catch up with you in a minute.''

The women's smiles were back on their faces when they went to stand on the other side of the wide street, chatting among themselves and playfully tugging at their skirts and hair.

''They won't be waiting for me, will they?'' Ezio said to Altair who had brought an arm around his waist and held the younger man's belt to keep him standing.

''Probably not.'' The tan assassin grunted as he tried to lead Ezio to lean against a nearby wall as smoothly as possible.

The heavy Italian hanging at his shoulder was starting to make his muscles hurt but would collapse to the ground in no time if Altair were to let go of him. The Arab managed to prop him up against said wall but could not get his undivided attention, Ezio being more busy frowning at the men picking up his prostitutes than looking at him. It was only when Altair tugged the bottle away from his clenched fingers that Ezio turned his head to protest.

''Hey! I still need that!''

''I doubt that. It's empty.''

''Oh.''

Altair took a couple of steps back, arms crossed over his chest and scoffed, eyes studying the other assassin's face.

''What the hell are you doing?'' He asked.

''Drinking. Picking up women.'' Ezio grinned and turned his attention back to the prostitutes who were now walking off with the other men.

Altair rolled his eyes.

''No. I mean _what the hell are you doing_?''

''Already told you.''

''Look at me, will you.''

Ezio's long bangs were hiding his eyes when he forced himself to tear his gaze away from the women to look at Altair again. He slid down the wall a little but the other's hand gripped his shoulders to support him until he found his balance again. He saw his former partner shake his head slightly and felt fingers on his face when the older man brushed his bangs aside. The touch was not meant to be loving but Ezio enjoyed it nonetheless and found it suddenly less hard to focus on Altair, the light coming from an open door ten feet away from them revealing the Arab's features under his hood.

The tan assassin's hand rested against the side of Ezio's face, holding his head fast and forcing him to look at him.

''You know perfectly what I mean.''

The Italian grinned wider, showing white teeth while his fingers came up to tighten around his friend's wrist and he leaned into his touch.

''Do I?''

The grey gaze was heavy and serious in his when Ezio moved his hands to tangle his fingers with Altair's. He turned his face, feeling the man's pulse beat against his lips. His alcohol-influenced brain toyed with the thought of what would happen if Altair were to flex his muscles to bring out the hidden blade. He parted his lips to drag the bottom one softly over the fragile skin just by the edge of the leather arm-protection. The Arab's eyes widened for a second and he tried to tug his hand away but Ezio held him still.

The Italian finally untagled their fingers and reached out under the white hood to rest his hands on each side of Altair's warm neck. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them and took in the sight of the older man's surprised expression.

''Hm.'' He smiled. ''Beautiful.''

''Beautiful is for women.'' The other grimaced.

Ezio cocked his head to the side, right thumb slowly stroking over his former partner's slightly parted lips.

''It still is the word that describes you best right now.''

He pulled the older man closer and began nuzzling his jawline but Altair took a step back, seperating himself from Ezio.

''Stop. That's enough.''

''Why so shy all of the sudden? You weren't protesting last time.''

''Last time we were in my room and not in the middle of a busy street. People are looking.''

Ezio shrugged.

''So let them. Perhaps they'll learn a thing or two.''

''Come on, this isn't funny. We must go back to the hideout.''

''And then what?'' Ezio scoffed, his grin suddenly disappearing along with his good mood. ''Have nothing else to do but sit there and stare at my uncle and hope for him to wake up?''

''You are overdramatizing. His doctor said that he just needs some days of rest to regain his strength after the bloodloss...''

''Which was entirely my fault!''

He let go of the Arab, letting his hands fall to his sides and saw the older assassin's eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline.

''Lacroix tortured a novice into showing him the way. He was the one to attack your uncle. He alone is responsible, how can that be your fault?''

''If we had waited for him at the house by the Vatican the day I came to rescue you we could have avoided all this.''

''You were wounded.''

''Because I was careless! Either one of us would have been enough to take Lacroix down but I got myself poisoned and you had to carry me to Leo's! It is my fault we could not wait for him.''

The Arab's eyes were studying his face again and the man finally shrugged:

''Well... if you insist upon this being your fault, then I guess it is.''

''Ha ha.'' Ezio muttered in a flat voice. ''Be careful or Maat shall have your soul again.''

His happy-drunk face was completely gone and replaced by the most cranky expression Altair had ever seen. The Arab sighed.

''Stop torturing yourself over things that could have gone much worse than they did. Your uncle could have died, but he survived and given time he will be fine.''

''Imagining that things always will be fine no matter what happens is exactly the way of thinking that will get the little family I have left killed.''

Helpless, Altair spread his arms before crossing them over his chest again.

''So. You do not want to go back to the headquarters and I can not let you stay here with these...'' He glanced over quickly to see a man empty his glass of wine over another guy, laughther only interrupted by a loud burp. The other responded by back-handing the first one across the face. ''...people.''

''I am a grown man. I do not have to ask for your permission.''

''You aren't even that drunk, are you?''

Ezio's bangs were back in his eyes, but his movements were precise and controlled when he raised a hand to brush them aside and he stood normally, on his own.

''I acted completely wasted to make the girls laugh and break away from all that happened this passed month.'' He nudged the bottle with the tip of his boot. ''This isn't nearly enough to make me drunk.''

''Well, I will not let you stay here so you can drink yourself into a stupor and whore around.''

''Whore around? Really?''

''Come on. You and those girls were not going to have discussion about gardening or home decoration. It may seem like a good idea to lose yourself into irresponsibility right now but it's rarely the answer.''

Ezio crossed his arms over his chest too and looked directly at him.

''I do not want to be alone for now.'' He said after a while.

''Then I'll stay with you. But let's go someplace where we won't get hit by flying mugs of ale. That fight over there seems to be turning nasty.''

The man with the wine glass had started trouble that had escalated two taverns over, involving more and more people. They were louder by the minute and the punches thrown became harder. People shouted and threw objects around, everything from mugs of ale to chairs and heavy benches or eventually eachother.

''No, wait. I want to see this.''

''It's just another stupid tavern fight. Before you know it someone will come over here and pick...''

''Hey there!''

Altair could not finish his sentence. A short, stocky and very drunk man had stopped hitting another guy in the face and seen Ezio watch the mess of people fighting, drinking or laughing, which was not to his liking. He was now stumbling over to the assassins, voice loud and raw. He shook a fist holding a flask of brandy:

''Why don't ya come over here and take a closer look, you little son of a bitch? Or maybe ya'd better run to your girlfriend if you're scared.''

Ezio's body stiffened but he stayed silent. The drunk took it as an invitation to ramble on.

''Been watching you. Anyone ever tell ya that humping guys is a sickness, boy? Ya should see a doctor! Or maybe it's a birth defect cos' mommy and daddy fucked wrong!''

That was it. Ezio shouldered himself off the wall, angered enough to beat the guy into a bloody heap for his insults. He took a couple of steps forward, but Altair's hand grabbed his arm roughly and yanked him back.

''Be reasonable!'' The Arab hissed. ''At one point there will be guards coming to stop this, and we've already drawn enough attention to ourselves. Besides, you are a trained killer, he is just a civilian being dumb. You might hurt him.''

''He should have thought of that before.'' Ezio growled and freed his arm from the older assassin's grip.

''Fine.'' Altair said coldly. ''Then you're on your own. I hope they beat some sense into that thick skull of yours.''

A small grin tugged at Ezio's lips:

''Rather unlikely, don't you think?''

He walked over to the guy who just stood there waiting for him to come over and entered the fight. He was soon in the midst of the chaos, punching and kicking like fighting was something he had been born for and it did not last long before the man who came at him lay on the ground, spitting out his teeth. Altair leaned back against the wall, shaking his head at the demonstration of human stupidity before his eyes. Several other taverns were closing their doors and windows for the night, including the one by which he stood, to avoid taking part in the mess of dust, limbs and ruined furniture. Their lights went out and the place where the assassin stood became dark, but not enough to render him invisible.

Just like it had happened to Ezio it did not last long before someone walked up to him, but this time the guy came to stand right under his nose.

''What's up with you, pretty boy, huh? You don't fight?'' He punched the Arab in the shoulder.

He was so far gone that it did not matter if he did not actually see the white-clad man's face. Altair did not budge, but being several inches shorter than the assassin did not stop the drunk. He punched his shoulder again.

''What's up with you? Afraid to ruin your cute face?''

He had used up the assassin's already thin-worn patience. Two strong hands grabbed him suddenly and liftend him up by the front of his shirt and he yelped in surprise when his back and skull brutally collided with the wall.

''Touch me once more and I'll send you home crawling on all four, crying.''

The cold, menacing voice of the man whose features he could not see sent an icy shiver through the petrified man's body. When Altair dropped him and his feet hit the pavement the man's knees buckled under him. Terrified eyes fixed upon the towering white form he stood up as well as he could in his hurry, whimpered and ran off under the Arab's amused gaze.

Altair's amusement was short-lived. Over the shouting and yelling his ears made out the sound of marching feet and orders being given a couple of streets away. Guards were coming to clean up, just like he had predicted. It was neither in his nor in Ezio's interest to be found here and he reluctantly stepped into the fight, avoiding drunkards and dodging a flying chair, trying to spot his former partner.

He found Ezio, a large smile plastered on his lips, obviously enjoying himself. A man was standing just behind him, hands gripping the assassin's tunic and doing his best to keep him still while his friend readied himself to deliver a punch to Ezio's jaw. As soon as he came within range Ezio kicked out, sending the guy to the ground with a hard boot to the chest then reached out behind. He grabbed the guy who held him, threw him over his shoulder and onto a table, breaking it under the man's weight and ripping his own tunic in the process. Both men were out, one groaning on the ground and the other lying in the midst of broken pieces of wood, fists still holding shreds of green fabric.

Ezio's good mood seemed to be back, the heat of battle leading his thoughts elsewhere than his wounded uncle and things he could have done better. He seemed to be having the time of his life. Altair tried drawing his attention by shouting his name over and over without success. He had no choice but to walk over to the Italian, which he did.

Sensing a presence approaching Ezio whipped around, battle reflexes sharpened, jumping forward without even thinking and tightening a hand around the Arab's throat, throwing both Altair and himself down. Altair's breath got knocked out of him when he landed back first into the pavement with Ezio straddling his hips. As he recognized him the Italian let his drawn-back fist fall and watched Altair who looked rather shaken.

''Altair!'' He panted, out of breath. ''You joined.''

''Not to fight by your side, I'm afraid. We need to go, guards are coming.''

Ezio let go of his throat but remained seated on him.

''Let's beat them up too!''

''No, we leave before this gets even more out of hand.''

''Fine. But I want to go someplace where I can se these guys get tossed into jail.''

The slightly taller man stood up and elbowed and pushed his way out of the fight, and Altair followed him up to the closest rooftop where they could see without being seen. Just as they sat down on the flat edge the guards of the city came to sight, rounding a corner. They were quick to evaluate the situation and plan out how to stop the fighters from causing any more trouble.

Rough and deaf to protestation they shunned curious bystanders away and prostitutes back to their respective brothels and forced the owners to close the establishment. The ones responsible for the fight faced a couple of days in prison for disturbing the order and others were sent home, sometimes a little forced. Things calmed down eventually and Ezio glanced over to Altair, who still looked at a loud guy resisting arrest, watching him silently without the Arab knowing.

''You know...'' He chuckled.

Altair turned his face to him.

''I used to tell myself that if I could just keep you here as my partner it would be enough and I would not wish for anything more. But two days ago I found out that I was wrong. I also want my uncle to be fine.''

He sighed.

''I guess I'm being selfish, asking for too much.''

''You call that being selfish? Wanting your loved ones to live and be in good health is nothing close to selfishness.''

Ezio turned his head back to the now empty but still noisy street. The brothels sheltered some drunks that had managed to hide or escape from the guards, their laughter and giggling women audible through wide open windows.

''The show is over.'' Altair nudged his shoulder. ''We should go.''

''I got carried away.'' The Italian grimaced, glancing down at his own chest.

His green tunic was ruined. It was ripped and torn and the black ribbon holding his long hair was gone, letting rich brown locks cascade on his shoulders and down to the middle of his back. He opened the tunic and shrugged it off to leave his upper body only to be clad in a white shirt. Altair pointed at his jaw, which bore the mark of a punch.

''I think you'll be a bit sore tomorrow too.''

Ezio rubbed his sweaty palms over his own trousers in an absent gesture.

''For you information, the fair maiden is supposed to welcome her champion back from battle and tend to his wounds, not mock him.''

''I'm no maiden so I can mock you all I want.'' Altair chuckled. ''And you're no champion.''

''Oh well.'' Ezio pouted, looking his fellow assassin up and down in a very obvious manner. ''Maat did not return your lost memories. So you are just like a blank parchment again.''

''That does not make of me a virgin.''

''No, but it still means I will have to teach you everything.''

The Arab scoffed at the evident proposition and Ezio's wide, teasing grin. He remained seated by the edge of the roof while the younger man stood up and took a couple of steps around. The Italian's body was covered with a thin layer of sweat that clung his shirt to his skin and the warm, moist air did nothing to better his condition. When he came up behind Altair he kneeled down and the other let him.

''I lied to you the other day.'' He said by the tan assassin's ear, leaning against his back and pulling the hood off his head before tossing it aside. Altair turned a little.

''Did you now.''

His voice was calm when Ezio's hands snaked around his waist to undo the buckles of the large leather belt protecting his belly and carrying most of his weapons.

''Yes.''

He kept silent, did not rush the other into explaining what he meant, let the Italian's hands travel to

his chest so he could undo the harness that crossed his body and Ezio continued:

''I said I needed you, right?''

Leather and metal softly hit the flat roof of the storage building when Ezio let them slide slide down Altair's side, his nose stroking down the Arab's neck. Altair's muscles tensed a bit.

''That was not really the truth.''

His hands lingered where they had undone the harness' buckle for a moment before moving upwards a little, slowly undoing the two layers of small metal hooks closing the front of Altair's white sleeveless robes and grey tunic. As he undid the hooks all the way down to the top of the Arab's abdomen he felt a shiver run through the man and trailed his hand up again to rest on his throat, left arm holding the other's waist tightly. Chest pressed against Altair's back Ezio nuzzled the layers of fabric covering the side of the older assassin's neck aside, letting his warm breath caress the naked skin.

He shifted his position so that he sat on the roof and Altair decided to move also. He turned around to face Ezio, on his knees, one placed on the ground between Ezio's legs and one of Ezio's legs between his. The Italian tipped his head back to look up at his face. One of Altair's arms came to hold around his neck, fingers sliding into the younger man's thick hair. The Arab's other hand clenched to Ezio's shoulder, tugging the white shirt off of it, both men looking at eachother from behind half-closed eyelids. Ezio brought his fingers on Altair's throat down slowly, just trailing them down the middle of his chest through the gap of undone hooks while Altair leaned forward, nose stroking over Ezio's cheekbone.

The arm around the Arab's back pulled Altair closer roughly, tearing a soft grunt from him. Ezio's fingers clenched the robes over the small of his back and the Italian breathed through parted lips, panting softly as the other man stroke his exposed neck and shoulder.

''I don't need you.'' Ezio said, finding his own voice sounding strange and raw. ''I want you.''

He brought their lips together in an intense, possessive kiss. Warmth spread through them both and Altair's fingers tightened in Ezio's hair, holding the younger man impossibly closer. When the kiss broke they were both panting for air. The Italian's hand slipped under the layers of tunic and robes to caress Altair's muscular chest, thumb rubbing over a nipple. Altair's gasp was loud as he threw his head back and arched his body, Ezio's mouth replacing the thumb, warm wet tongue teasing the tip of the nipple. Blunt nails left red marks as they dug into Ezio's skin and the Arab kissed him again fiercly, hands leaving Ezio's hair and shoulder to undo the buttons of the younger's shirt. Ezio moaned softly into the kiss, white fabric gliding off his shoulders and pooling in a heap on the roof that was their ground and Altair's bare chest pressed against his.

He could feel how everything he did worked, he could feel how aroused the other assassin was. Hell, the exange of soft and rough caresses and the touch of Altair's scarred lips on his made _him_ tremble like a teenager, him, Ezio, who had more experience than most. The memories of how to be with somebody may have been lost to the Arab along with most memories of his previous life to avoid them being heavy in his mind, but nothing was off with his instincts. There was no hesitation, he enjoyed the feeling of Ezio's body just as Ezio enjoyed the feeling of his.

The Italian grabbed the other's hips and leaned forward until Altair lay on his back on the tiles with Ezio laying over him. Their lips separated and Altair's hands were tight around Ezio's bicepses, the Italian's face burried into the crook between his shoulder and neck, teeth scraping at the bare skin. He felt Ezio's open hand trail down his ribs, waist, hips and behind where it rested for a couple of seconds before travelling further down to the front of his thigh, palm warm through the fabric of his trousers.

Ezio's hand tightened when it reached the underside of his knee, pulling it up so he could slip between Altair's legs. A twist of the Arab's body reversed their positions with Altair straddling Ezio's hips, pinning the younger man down.

''Let me stop you just there.''

Seeing the little smirk on his lips the other assassin let himself be pinned and let his hands fall, grinning.

''Don't tell me you don't want what I do.'' He said when Altair let a finger follow the lines of the strong muscles of his neck, shoulders, arms and chest, grey eyes meeting brown ones and sending shivers of pleasure through his body.

''I never denied that. But I think I owe you some payback... for complicating the return of my soul.''

Ezio scoffed, caught Altair's wrists and sat up, his face only inches from the other's.

''Oh well.''

He trailed his nose along Altair's jawline, nudging to make him tip his chin up and then whispered against his throat:

''You'll let me sooner or later anyway.''

* * *

><p><strong>To those who expected porn:<strong> Sorry, but I'm still uncomfortable with the idea of describing sex, so this will have to do for now x) Besides, there are so many fics with porn out there that I thought I'd do things a bit differently... O.o


End file.
